Onyx
by anon66
Summary: Based off the Seven Deadly Sins † Thou shall not lust after thy enemy and screw him senseless every night † Dram
1. Luxeria

**Disclaimer: **The Gone™ books belong to their rightful owner(s). I don't or I'd be kinda rich, which I most certainly am not.

**Author's note/warnings:** Oi. This is pretty intense and epic, I won't lie (though mah ego passed Caine's a long time ago, don't bother calling me a boaster). So there will be one chapter per sin, and it will include a tad more smut than actual plot, since the Gone™ fandom desperately needs some well-written slash p0rnz and I'm the right person.

Obviously, this includes sexual themes (some non-consensual, bondage, and impropriate use of a tentacle) between two males being underage by the legal age in their country, references to anti-religion/Satanistic (if you must) themes, colourful language, mentions of death and alcohol use, and also various things that's already in Gone™ from before. Don't like don't read.

Set during HUNGER or something. Thank you to **SirenShadow** for beta'ing!

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**Onyx** comes through Latin: _onyx_, from the Greek ὄνυξ, meaning 'claw' or 'fingernail'. With the stone with the same name's flesh tone colour, onyx can be said to resemble a fingernail. The English word 'nail' is cognate with the Greek word.

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**Onyx: I  
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_"An unromantic affair as black as ebony and so deviously malicious that in the end they both shall go straight to the deepest layer of Hell."_

**Luxuria** (lechery/lust)

Intense, uncontrolled or illicit sexual desire or appetite; lecherousness

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"_What is the difference between love and obsession? Didn't both make you stay up all night, wandering the streets, a victim of your own imagination, your own heartbeat? Didn't you fall into both, headfirst into quicksand? Wasn't every man a fool and every woman a slave?_

_Love was like rain: it turned to ice, or it disappeared. Now you saw it, now you couldn't find it no matter how hard you might search. Love evaporated, obsession was realer; it hurt, like a pin in your bottom, an stone in your shoe. A morning phone call filled with regret. A letter that said 'Dear you, goodbye from me'. Obsession tasted like something familiar. Something you'd known your whole life. It settled and lurked; it stayed with you." -_ Alice Hoffman

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They fucked because they fought and they fought because they fucked.

A vile mixture – like a potion of some sort – of hate and lust. Not to be mistaken with such a heart-warming emotion such as love. No, it is something much less delicate and it's easier to name the feelings that surrounded the word; the most concrete being raw and primitive want to _fuck_.

They partook in sexual actions.

They had sex.

To be frank, they fucked.

But the two of them did not _make love_, since there were no hints of love between them, therefore no love to make.

& there was no love. Absolutely no love. Drake felt... no love. Not even a tiniest glimpse of taking a mere liking towards the boy he was mercilessly plunging himself into every night without a second thought for his well-being. Nothing of such. At **all.**

Even when claw-like nails had been drawn across the exotic tanned skin on the boy's stomach and he planted a trail of butterfly-light kisses along the well-formed collarbone.

Even when midnight-blue eyes had widened to the extent that the pupils lessened to mere black dots and the boy had arched backwards, drugged in equal measure of indefinable pleasure and pain surging trough the petite body like a burning sensation.

Even when indigo-coloured stars had flickered in front of his vision, and he'd forced himself into his willing but yet unwilling bottom, but never losing his pride or sinking low enough to tell Sam that he _liked _what they was doing.

Even when the boy had risen from his crumbled – scattered, like shards of a mirror – position, hate being an equilibrium with something as primitive as want and he tells him _to get the fuck out and never return_.

& Drake returned. On all occasions. In the blackest of night and the earliest of mornings (hour, minute and second; all occasions haphazardly placed in an order just comprehensible to the deranged predator) he slinks through the window of the boy's – _his_ boy, _his_ fine victimised prey caught only by him, which is his, _his, **his**_** – **beautiful white little bedchamber.

The window was open. Steal-grey curtains danced in the light breeze, the two shadowed figures behind them just being seen as a mere silhouette, disallowing anyone to see what happened in the little room.

Pristine white walls. There is something strangely alluring about the colour white. It is the sign on innocence, the exact opposite of the crimes the two are committing. A dimmed memory lost in time but still very much in tact – his father once showed him what happened to mentally ill people; they ended up in lunatic asylums. With white walls surrounding each cell. Gruesome yet pretty, white walls. "Unless you stop with those sadistic tendencies of yours Drake, this is where you will end up!" Atrocity, what had his father had done? _'Nah,'_ a sinister smile stretched across Drake's face, _'Daddy's right. There ain't no mercy in this goddamn world. I would've ended up there anyway if this new FAYZ wall hadn't existed.'_

"I told you not to come again," Sam hissed in a low voice, afraid to get caught red-handed with the individual sitting on his bed if someone else entered bedroom. It was easy to make assumptions of what the two of that had been doing previously. He was like a scared snake, coiling itself in thin air with venom-dripping fangs bared, ready to attack out of sheer defence, not because he wanted to.

Even snakes are afraid of snakes.

Drake's name meant dragon, or snake. It passed perfectly since he really was an animal at heart; a predator that wanted nothing more than to slaughter and tear everything that came in its way to mere pieces. Drake. Truth to be told, he loved his name. It was most unique and it was a name that silently brought horror into the faces of those who muttered it.

"But I did, didn't I? So fuck that shit, it's too late," Drake spat, leaning back on the wooden wall painted in a chalk-white colour. "And don't fucking lie and say you didn't miss me." The devious tone turned cunning at the end, taunting and irritating Sam in a way words couldn't describe – How could he be so damn blunt about all of it? "Or rather, missing what I can _do_. When I screwed you into oblivion, your mouth slightly open, panting like a dog, moaning my name and begging me to go faster-"

"Shut the hell up!" Sam cut him off with a vicious snarl, having some trouble keeping his voice at the regular volume. He loathed himself when his perverse mind couldn't help but unfold the scene described to him moment ago. Sam shook his head in a pitiful attempt to clear it from his mind and another disrespecting snarl escaped his lips, "It's over. I don't want you here any more." It was the same. The same demand every night and it amused Drake greatly how it failed each time too.

Sam meant 'listener' or 'the one who hears'. The sadist guessed it was right. Why couldn't he just see the bestialfun it was to fight, tear, slaughter, laugh and overall kill anything that got in your way? No, because the goody-two-shoe just stayed in the background, watching, listening, never taking action before being unwillingly pushed into it mostly by his dreaded girlfriend (Drake wouldn't even allow himself to mutter her name in fright it would poison his tongue).

"N'aw," Drake tilted his head to the side as he put up a fake sulking expression, but the standard shark-like grin glinted spitefully, and showing the true demon he was at heart, "Here I come all the way from Coates, risking my reputation just to-"

"Screw me senseless?" Cutting the bastard off seemed to have become a habit. Sam just raised an eyebrow, hating the power Drake had over them in this stupid little affair-

Drake's gleeful grin widened in agreement as he wiggled his way over to FAYZ's hero like an eel, his human hand creeping up into Sam's t-shirt and invading the soft skin there. Sam bit back a shallow moan and transformed the submissive noise into a harsh hiss.

...An unromantic affair as black as ebony and so deviously malicious that in the end they they would both go straight to the deepest layer of Hell.

"Don't."

It was a warning to be taken seriously.

The sand-blonde teenager growled in disagreement as his hand was showed away from its playground. Sam stared into the furious mercuric eyes – shining like silver coins as annihilating as money – with the same amount of rage, therefore quite shocked when finding himself shoved into the mattress in the next second. Drake leant over him, cupping Sam's hands above his head so he couldn't fight, evident surreal madness on his scowling features. Sam tried in vain to shove the unwanted heaviness off, but the psychopath calculated his movements to be quicker.

In less than a second he'd managed to drag Sam on top of his lap. "You talk too fucking much. Live a little. It's in the middle of the night and no one knows I'm here."

Seconds passed. So did Sam's defiance.

Tanned hands were now intervened like persistent vine branches in soft, sand-blonde hair, and Drake could see all the boy's muscles moving under the white t-shirt.

It wasn't good enough.

Drake grabbed the hilt of Sam's cyan-coloured t-shirt and harshly tore it off, ripping holes in the fabric but neither could care; clothes were tight and in the way. Sam was sprawled across Drake's lap, one leg on each side on his abdomen.

His only function in life was to please his personal God, or his personal Satan – Drake Merwin worked as both, though mostly the latter.

Two skilled tongues were starved on each other and waltzed together appearing quite risqué, and at the same time trying to dominate each other. The predator sadistically bit down on Sam's bottom lip, adoring each whimper he produced, releasing him for a moment and licking up every drop of crimson liquid that ran from the corner of their joined mouths. The metallic and salty flavour of his auburn-haired uke tasted sweet on his tongue and Drake moaned Sam's name, before starting to ravish his neck.

"Gah... D-Drake..." was all he managed to force out in a stuttered response between gritted teeth as he bent his head backwards, the only thing he could do to allow Drake to have an even larger playground. His Adams apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed thickly, taking a few ragged breaths with Drake sinning violently against his throat with that wet tongue of his. Sam was hot to the touch, blood rushing down to the lower half of his body and encasing him in a spiralling raiment of forbidden lust.

Dagger teeth glinted with mischief, illuminated by argental-moonlight from the open window where he'd entered through. "You're hard already," he informed.

"So are you," Sam replied, tone slightly cunning, almost challenging.

Drake snorted and stripped out of his own clothes, throwing them across the room before his naked form made its way over to Sam's. He crawled like a creature of the night, movements sensual and silent, white teeth bared like a hungry wolf. Shyness was something Drake had lost a long time ago after spending night after night with the other boy.

The infamous Merwin then forced Sam under him (while the auburn-haired bottom was spitting, cursing and overall being a struggling little bitch) with his complete bodyweight. His beloved tentacle helped, sneaking south like a venomous snake, ripping up the material of his boxers without a second of hesitance. He forced Sam to turn around, but still having enough space to let his skeleton-like fingers move with sheer impatience towards Sam's thigh, grasping the throbbing sex, hard without as much as hint of disgust or shame. His groin pressed against the tight ass underneath him, and his arousal grew with the touch.

"You want this don't you? Disgusting little whore."

He let go when the whimpering noises Sam was making increased and instead ran his index finger up the entire length, causing Sam to harden even more. His fingers withdrew from the battleground and ran lower, the whip-like tentacle instead taking on the task of utter importance; jerking Sam off without mercy until he screamed Drake's name.

"So _fucking _disgusting."

He planted a hot kiss on the bottom's shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent.

Drake wished he would scream. Use those strong lungs of his, beg him to stop but at the same time beg him to go faster. But he knew the little dignity Sam had left after their countless sessions would never allow him that. However that didn't mean that he wouldn't.

Instead Sam merely tensed noticeably as one sharp-nailed finger circled his entrance, teasing about the pain that had yet to come, also entering the tight ring of muscle the moment Sam was going to ask_ nicely _to 'slow the fuck down!'. It wasn't enough to withdraw a whimper but enough silence the offending demands from the bottom for a moment. and Drake was aware of this, so he added two more before Sam could even react to his fast phase of preparing him.

The painful scream that tore itself from Sam's throat was so pleasing that Drake wondered if he would cum on the spot – though he knew that was highly unlikely. No, he needed more... He always needed more, even if his beloved sadism helped. He wanted blood, wanted death- no not death, that was an escape route for his victims.

Was the boy squirming beneath him a victim? He liked to believe that. That when he pounded himself into Sam, the stupid fuck hated each moment of it. He liked to believe it, yet he knew it wasn't the truth. Rape?

Perhaps it was, even when Sam did actually want it.

It was an illicit passion both have always harboured for each other, and it would not end any time soon.

The tentacle's hold tightened painfully around Sam's member like a chain, still stoking him in the same tempo but making sure that every time he got close to climax, he'd slow down just to torture the little bastard.

Without wasting any time on mocking comments, he forced Sam's legs wider apart, smirking at the sight before him. He grabbed the bottle of lube from the steel bureau nearby, clashing some of the pink substance on his own dick before entering roughly, not a second thought of the boy beneath him.

Sam grit his teeth together, his head then turned around, hissed some insults and spat Drake in the face. The psychopath grinned like the sadist he was at heart, forcing Sam's head down in the pillow again and muttered sinful things in his ear while the tentacle started stroking him with quick movements. He didn't even bother to wipe the saliva away.

Often, not many words were exchanged during sex. Not before or after either, because sexual tension always lay like a thick mist covering them when they were near each other (AKA. when Drake wasn't fucking him) so any conversation - mocking insults - were very varied and rare. Speaking of tension...

Sam slowly buried his head into the soft pillow, reviving comfort from the smooth surface. It was the only comfort he had, at the moment; Drake would rather be caught dead than to offer some sort of kindness towards his most hated foe, even if the they weren't exactly trying to kill each other at that moment.

The bed sheets were coal-black and Drake wondered if Sam had purposely put them on to indicate the small function in their relationship, one of the few things they had in common, for instance; both souls were the blackest of night because of the actions they partook in together.

Seven seconds passed and out of the sudden Drake pulled out, grabbed Sam's arm and forced him to turn around and face his nightmare.

For a moment, an oddly gentle hand stroked his cheek, then it tightened around it harshly and forced the him to look at Drake, "I want to see how stupid your face looks when you come." Therefore breaking every possibility of an act of kindness. Not that Sam believed such a _beyond stupid_ idea anyway.

Drake pulled out for a moment before he roughly drove himself in again, never wasting a second. He drew as deep and hard as he managed, knowing that was exactly how Sam liked it and how to coax out that submissive attitude. He thrust himself in, gasping, cursing, moaning and groaning while anger and hatred rushed trough his body, the snake of an arm still wrapped tightly around Sam's dick while stroking him.

He leaned down and let his fevered mouth run the soft skin on the Sam's jaw, until he reached the slightly parted lips and forced an entrance with his impatient tongue and first running over the chalk-white teeth, supporting himself with his hand on the left side of Sam's waist. The sweet little hero belonged to him, he thought with triumph as if had won some sort of war.

The taste of his dominant partner was overflowing and Sam moaned quietly into the hard kiss, their tongues duelling together, spreading his legs further.

Hate. Yet they still hated each other. Even when the tentacle doubled its speed, therefore increasing the rewarding noises he revived from the boy underneath.

Sam's cheeks were dusted with light-red and his tongue hang limply out of his mouth like he was a dehydrated animal of some sort. Sam's toes curled in pleasure and he moaned gently, looking as fuckable as ever.

Strands of damp, auburn hair clouded his vision and he didn't even bother to wipe them away.

The human example of insanity quickened his pace. The thrusting was far from gentle and directly violent; Sam had the feeling of seventy nails being hammered into his skin but at the same time experiencing mind-blowing pleasure streaming through his veins up from his groin.

Drake's eyelids started twitching as he searched for something within the damp boy surrounding him. It was moist and tight like always, and it always felt so perfect around him; but he was never going to tell the bastard under him that. Never.

Then he found it. The spot that made Sam's world spin. Colours flew across his vision, mostly dominated by small white and deep violet dots as if he was sitting in a car while watching as scenic nature passed by in a flash where he couldn't make out objects or people. He wasn't even half-aware of the noises that escaped his wide-open mouth, his only focus on _experiencing_ the pleasure.

Drake thrust himself in again and hit his prostate repeatedly, successfully making Sam tremble, the deranged sadist still trying to push himself further within him.

"Whore," Drake taunted, losing his own sight; groaning like a starved beast, eyes rolling to the back of his head and tempo trebling. It felt as if he was completely weightless, as in the outer space, floating around and defying gravity. Thereafter falling from a building as he came closer and closer to release and he was falling and falling and falling and falling-

An obsession. That what was it was, an obsession driven by untameable lust for his number one enemy. An invisible web of metal chains were whirled around him and severely grasping his sensitive skin, leaving him feeling like the silky soft material was choking the life out of him. It arched in each cell of his body and he longed with all his heart – did he even have one? – to get out of the lucid spider web surrounding him. To get out of the obsession he harboured for the other boy.

Though there were no ways to freedom; no ways to free himself for such an obsessive burden, because he'd already thrown himself over the hazardous cliff and was falling into the pitch black hole beneath; a view of death itself. Drake had yet to die, his heart had yet to stop beating and his brain had yet to stop functioning, but just knowing that he was going to suffer because of his current noxious relationship made a cold shiver run down his spine. That is, if someone found out. And it was bound to happen sometime soon – because their sick, twisted little game couldn't go on in secret forever now, could it?

But when he fell, Sam fell with him.

Drake's obnoxious conclusions about his own state of mind made a remarkable amount of sense. It was an odd happening, seeing as he harboured no extreme intelligence and his IQ was slightly under the average. His outer appearance wasn't impressive in particular either because he wasn't beautiful or one teenage girls would describe as hot or sexy. After many months of living in this new goddamn world called _The FAYZ_ without any adults and surrounded by mutating humans and animals, his look had worsen along with his sight on life. A whip-formed tentacle had replaced his burnt off arm, but it had also replaced the last bit of sanity he had left, if he ever had any at all.

Waves of heat spread through the bottom's body, and Sam stuttered, "Go faster," in a half-hearted beg when he was extremely close to climaxing. Drake responded to the begging and did as he was 'asked', his fevered mind not managing to cling onto the hate. Instead he bent forward and was about to kiss Sam's jaw when the four-bar turned around and met his lips grotesquely and hotly.

As previously stated, Drake isn't the smartest human on this earth, and as memories come and go, so does realizion over his current situation and the psychopath is brought back to the present with one look at the sultry form beneath his own.

Mercuric eyes drank in the sight of Sam's risqué form. A thin layer of sweat that laid on his temple caused a drop to run down, skin glinting in the dim light streaming from the open window.

"Say you're a slut." Come on, say it say it say it say it say it-

"Ngh... I'm a _f-fucking_ slut." Even when those submissive words were muttered, Drake could still sense the thick layer of hate that laid in the stuttering voice.

"Say you're **my** slut."

"I'm your slut, your dirty, disgusting little whorish, needing slut- oh God please- _Mngh_!"

God? Drake preferred the term Master but he guesses that divine title works as well. He wanted to reply, make some mocking comment about the pure boy before him whose virginity and innocence was torn to thousand pieces in what seems like centuries ago.

Wishes were granted, though, by Drake's quickening his pace.

Both Sam's midnight-blue eyes twitched violently, pupils disappearing under his lids and causing the whole white to be visible. Fingers were clenching the fabric of the mattress, whole body shaking because of Drake's rough treatment. He pushed his legs further apart, anxious to get more Drake inside himself. Oh God, it was _so hot_.

"F-Fuck..." It didn't take to long before Sam spilled himself, losing himself completely with his head arching backwards and eyes shut tightly. "N_nnah_..."

Granted release, multi-coloured stars darted across his view before a bright explosion of pristine white – like the walls – light, blending Sam completely and leaving him gasping for precious air. Even after experiencing orgasm many times before, it felt new every time, and his ocean-blue pupils vanishing behind his lids. It didn't die away, just reduced a little bit, but enough to leave him moaning in the afterglow.

He also had problems regaining his sight, his brain seemingly blown away.

Though Drake had yet to finish. He kept on forcing an entrance without a second thought of Sam's discomfort, losing himself completely to the act. Some of the noises he produced would have brought him embarrassment and shame if it hadn't been for his lack of common sense at the moment, entirely focused on his own pleasure.

Though he followed soon after, empting himself completely into the struggling four-bar beneath him, reaching climax with a monstrous growl. He had to strain himself to not give any signs of feeling like he was in paradise, knowing fully well as soon as his brain – who had seemingly also disappeared, or taken a vacation to Bahamas – returned, he would regret it if he'd showed any positive emotions towards the auburn-haired teenager underneath him.

He collapsed on top of the other boy, his own breathing also laboured and not-quite controlled. Both lay like that for a few seconds, before Drake pulled out and rolled over with final satisfaction on his face. The open lust that had clouded the atmosphere faded. However, it never disappeared completely.

Cold air brushed against his naked body, but Sam smirked nevertheless, disgustingly pleased with the semen running down his own legs. It then slid off his lips when he remembered who the one sharing bed with him actually was.

He ran a hand through his thick, messy hair – making it even messier – and moaned silently, stretching his arms upwards before rolling over to face the wall. He knew Drake would disappear eventually, without a single goodbye. It was how it always was.

When he turned around several minutes later, Drake had disappeared and every trace of his existence was wiped from the room; clothes and being. With an exception of the wetness between Sam's legs, but nothing that a shower couldn't remove.

The four-bar knew that sex was the only thing Drake wanted from him; even expected it when Drake came in the night like an animal of some sort, starving for something other than food.

He knew it very, very well.

He just didn't expect it to hurt so much.

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_"Lust's passion will be served; it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes."_ -Marquis de Sade

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**A/N: **Needless to say, it ain't their first time doing the naughty. And poor Sam has developed some feelings for our favourite Patrick Bateman-Junior.

This will develop a plot later.


	2. Gula

**Disclaimer: **After so many disclaimers in various stories it should be rather clear that I am not the owner of Gone™. HarperCollins and Michael Grant are. All other material I so shamelessly steal belongs to their respective owners, not me.

**A/N: **Sorry for the long wait. After my old computer crashed, I lost all my notes for this, but I've managed to work out a decent plot anyway~ Not that this had much of a plot to begin with - shit will start happen in the next chapters, especially the last three ones.

For now it's just angst and fucked-up sex. **DreamCatcher96 **beta'd and she is made of awesommmmme~!

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**Onyx II**

_"They ate each other."_

_**Gula**_ (gluttony)

Excess in eating; extravagant indulgence of the appetite for food or other things; voracity

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"_Emotional self conditioning, for the purpose of feeling no pain is a hallmark of the serial killer's profession. As he comparatively chooses his prey, so does the hunter or cattleman who chooses an animal to be destroyed, for whatever reason. Emotion for the killer, at all costs, is expertly controlled; therefore feelings of guilt, remorse and empathy play a minimum role in the serial killer's profession. _

_For someone such as Ted Bundy, guilt was "an illusion... it's a kind of social control mechanism – and it's very unhealthy... there are much better ways to control our behaviour than rather extraordinary use of guilt."" _

_-_ Bonnie M. Rippo, Psy. D

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They ate each other.

That was what it looked like, anyway. Simply _engulfing _each other, body and soul alike. Sinners, both of them.

Gluttony. There are five ways of committing this sin and never going to Heaven.

**I:** Eating before the time of meals in order to satisfy the palate.

–the night. When it was dark, as dark as it gets, and blackness lying in the air. Black is the colour of sin. Strange. How fitting. They'd never screw each other during daytime, it was too risky, and their lives were always set before others in that time.

**II:** Seeking delicacies and better quality of food to gratify the "vile sense of taste."

–of all the mindless, beautiful, masochistic, crazed, weak, self-sacrificing, selfless, invalids who would be more than happy to spread their legs without as much as a complain and let Drake Merwin do whatever his sadistic mind pleased, it was only Sam who was good enough.  
>And for Sam Temple, who could get someone kind, smiling, heroic, strong, <em>not<em> sadistic (or psychopathic), loving, **normal**, individuals who would treat him with care and the respect he needed, he choose the most psychotic of all the people in the FAYZ.

What a mad world they lived in. Or, perhaps, it wasn't the world that was mad, but them.

**III:** Seeking after sauces and seasonings for the enjoyment of the palate.

–the unreasonable method Drake used to get his will. With a flick of a hand (or a whip-arm, rather) and a few carefully chosen words Sam would bend over, ass up, with a smirking face and allow Drake to twist his mind to his will. Planting small seeds of doubts towards the ones that were supposed to mean something to him, Drake helped those seeds of bitterness to grow into carnivorous plants eating the remains of that stupid little thing called guilt.

**IV**: Exceeding the necessary amount of food.

–when they ate each other, Sam wouldn't care that by rising his hands and burning a hole in Drake's scull he could get rid of all the problems that would arise in nearest future. If he didn't want to murder the murderer, he could just lock Drake away and never see the sadist again. But oh no _no_~ instead he would gluttonize the son of a bitch, both gluttons in their element, and get _eaten _right back up.

**V**: Taking food with too much eagerness, even when eating the proper amount, and even if the food is not luxurious.

–wasting the ability to do good and end misery & torment yet to come, just continuing to eat and eat and eat whatever goodness Sam had and whatever evil Drake had, filling each other up. Devouring each other – and soon, forgetting about everyone and everything. Monsters indeed.

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Pearls of cold water ran down his tanned back directly after one another, as if chasing each other like predators hunting smaller predators. However, when they met, they created a larger one, which continued down his back and gobbled up the remaining water pears. Eating them. _Gormandizing_ them.

Sam's attention was held on the nature phenomenon in a minimum of seven seconds. Soon it swirled away from his mental reach, like water disappearing in an effervescent waterfall. He banged his head repeatedly into the tiled shower wall until he turned off the shower, thinking too hard about certain things. He knew the perceptible odour of sex disappeared along with the unclean water down into the outlet.

The usual soreness in his ass was something he was familiar with, and the auburn-haired teen sighed. Just because he was used to it did not mean that the pain reduced. Stiff, he moved towards the exit of the bathroom. Sam didn't even care to look in the mirror; appearances could often be just as deceiving as lies. He sat down onto the bed, wincing again when the usual pain shot up his entire back.

It was all from sex.

Sex.

It wasn't something that constantly plagued his mind, no; mere hormones were something he could handle well on his own, with his own hand(s), quite literally.

He said nothing as he walked out of the bathroom, dressed, and headed for wherever his feet would guide him. He was lost in the world of thinking.

Sam plugged a metallic blue MP3 into his ears, emotionless on the outer appearance. Nor did he word his inner feelings, just stayed at the balcony of his house. He knew that he could talk to Astrid about his smallest problems, but verbal communication had never been one of his stronger suits.

A faint breeze played with his auburn hair, causing an unwanted shiver to run up his spine. It felt like skeleton-like fingers gracing his back. He unhesitatingly grabbed the half-filled Aqua-bottle that was standing near him, voraciously pouring down the content, a thin stream of water running down by his right jaw until it reached the tip of his chin, drops falling to the ground. He wiped them away; mildly annoyed.

Annoyance was a reaction he often felt.

Gazing out with vigilance, the four-bar had yet to faint even if black half-circles were manifested on his facial expression like they were glued on. Guarantied to not fade until he got a decent amount of sorely needed sleep.

He had woken tangled into the silky ebony sheets (whose softness was alluring, fooling him into remaining and thinking safety surrounded him, and that exact safety would surround him when he woke up). His head buried underneath thick layers of wool sheets to protect himself from the cold night air, and the ambient temperature under there had felt like if he was in the middle of a tropic rainforest, surrounded by exotic humidity.

With a mood not on top, he'd also woken six in the morning of a vile and gore filled nightmare.

Not that he was unused to waking up this early, Sam often got up early. He was like an insomniac, managing with just a few hours of sleep (rest of which he sinned away) without collapsing. Well, the actual truth was that _he _managed, but his body didn't. Therefore it wasn't much of a shocker when he had to support himself on the banisters painted in a beige colour. The sudden dizziness had caused his legs to give in from underneath him, and he felt incredibly dumb standing there like an old woman who forgot how to stand.

"Who cares for you?" Sam wondered out loud, tone blasé.

Edilio – a boy he'd spent more than one war-like situation with – appeared from behind a house corner, leaping in the direction of Sam (or rather, Astrid's) house. Relief replaced the mask of concern as he stopped on the outside, supporting himself on his knees, not seemingly seeing Sam's weird position.

Although his legs felt like easily destructible mush, the auburn-haired teenager got up.

It took a short amount of time before he found his voice. Edilio didn't mind, just gasping in vulnerable oxygen like his life depended on it. Well it would in another situation, though the auburn-haired teen doubted you could die from running too fast. "Edilio?"

"Man, you won't..." another set of heavy breaths, "b-believe watch's happening!" The singing from a couple of nearby birds was the only thing disturbing the silence that followed after. Then Edilio suddenly shouted out his message, causing the birds to fly away, "He stole it! He stole everything!" Rage slipped into the end, mixed with bone-deep panic.

"What do you mean? Speak slower!"

"The food!" Edilio said in-between ragged intakes of air, standing up. He was slightly taller than Sam, but the heroic Temple was standing on top of his veranda so he appeared taller. "Drake Merwin stole the friggin' food!"

.

.

"_Glutton: one who digs his grave with his teeth."_ -proverb

.

.

Great amounts of dark-red liquid were dripping from new wounds, inflicted in what could seem like minutes ago. The sand-blond stood, quite shakily, still on two legs with narrowed yet weak eyes. Sam knew what he'd done. He also knew the bastard deserved it. But that did not change the pity he felt as Drake took a step backwards and had to lean on the wall.

"I-I'd rather die than letting them see me like this," he explained.

"But you let _me _see you like this, idiot."

"You're different." Before Sam could interpret it as a compliment, the damaged teenager hurried to add, "You're just as weak as I am _now_. Now get on the bed."

Raising an eyebrow in a bland between amusement and amazement over the other Drake's idiotic attitude, Sam crossed his arms in disagreement, "You're fucking bleeding all over the place. I can't fuck you if you're gonna collapse in the middle of the sex." Before he recived an angry retort, he just grabbed Drake's arm and dragged him across the room. The sadist hissed in disagreement, but had used all his strength to run and dodge the bullets, therefore found out that Sam actually was stronger than him in that moment.

Pushing Drake into the bathroom, he felt relief wash over him when the blood wasn't all over the floor like he'd feared. He turned to his nemesis and fuckbuddy, and smirked as he noticed that Drake had understood the situation and started stripping out of his clothes.

"Idiotic psycho. You lack your sanity and your mind. Let me help you with that-"

"I don't need any help," Drake interrupted, hissing and took a few steps backwards, momentarily feeling quite dizzy because of the fast movement. "I'm just here to fuck your ass like I always did. Took your virginity, even."

Sam was pissed at the reminder of his first time. That had been one of the worst experiences in his life. Yet Drake did not get the point when he told him to piss off and came back for more. The saying that it was better over time was actually true, though Sam would never tell Drake that. "Go fuck someone else."

"Like who?"

"Ladris." It was the first thing that came to his mind; he didn't know of any other females on Coates. And Drake had also said that Caine was insane so unless the psychopath had a fetish for madmen (like himself) that was highly unbelievable.

Disgust were written all over Drake's face. "No damn way I'm touching that whore."

"Well she doesn't look whore-like. Isn't she together with my brother or something?"

"She's been with more dudes than you can count on your fingers, I guarantee it." There was something dangerous in his voice, showing Sam that going further on the subject could result in pain inflicted by Drake himself.

"But you just said you were the only who took my virginity. What's with the obsession of calling me one then? I haven't fucked someone else." Sam tried to sound casual, but knowing that Drake was lying about Diana. Not that he had any relationship to her except the fact that she had declined his question if she wanted to stay in the Perdido with the Townies, or, as Drake had stated from before, the 'goody-two-shoes'.

A sinister grin grew on Drake's expression, taking it as a compliment that 'Sam considered him to be the only one good enough'. "Because you're mine. You're _my_ personal whore." He was proud over this fact, Sam could tell by the way the pitch rose and reminded Sam of Drake's want to dominate.

"Right," Sam said with disbelief, and wandered over to him and unbuttoned his shirt, thereafter his own. Drake stayed silent with teeth gritted, now locked in confrontation. He did not like being 'helped', it was something he was rather unfamiliar with and he had no idea how to cope with it.

His gentle fingers running up over the wounds – provided by fighting, obviously – and old scars, Sam frowned. "It's not as bad as I thought. Obviously the things those kids used – y'know, for an example bats with shards of glass glued on? – have touched your skin and gone right trough the material of the shirt, also hit your face therefore all the blood." He sighed, "Should I pull them out or d'ya wanna do it yourself?"

"Just shut up and do it."

"You're welcome," Sam mumbled sourly, and not as gentle as he should have pulled them one after one out of where they had hit. Luckily the shards were big and not too small to have gotten underneath the skin, green and blue rectangle-formed so easily to spot. Drake didn't utter a noise of pain, teeth still ground together. "There, they're all out."

Tenseness hang in the very atoms of the air around them.

"Does that mean I we can our usual business going now?"

"No." With the questionable raised eyebrows he got in return, Sam explained, "You're still full of blood. It's disgusting. Use the shower. I'll get you some clothes so you don't have to run naked through town – but that would have been quite the sight though..." his lips quirked upwards, indicating his mood becoming a tiny bit better.

"Fuck you. You were full of blood the first time I fucked you raw and you didn't see me complaining. I think I broke through that... Y'know, membrane thing?"

"That's in the female body, stupid," Sam drawled in response, removing his own steel-grey shirt (the same colour that the mercuric eyes directed towards him had) because of the damned blood staining it, regretting that he'd not just pushed Drake out the window or something instead of helping the bastard. "Besides, how could I not? You didn't use foreplay or lube, just pushing yourself without even allowing me to adjust properly. And also, I bet you have never been interested in females. That's why you know nothing about them. Not anything about males, either. In fact, I don't think you have romantic drifts at all."

"I'm just interested in fucking."

"...You don't waste words, don't you?"

Drake ripped of his own pants and underwear, and his tentacle lashed out and wrapped around Sam's arm, dragging him across the tiled bathroom floor. "Hey! What do you think you're-"

"I'm gonna take you in the shower. Then I'll be squeaky clean and you'll be okay and that means no resistance. I came here to **do** you, not to talk with you." That's how it always was.

Sam tried to fight again, "Fine, fine! Just release me and let me undress!"

"Oh I'll let cha release, Sammy..." Drake promised in a purring tone, the sultry trademark grin he wore when teasing Sam right in place. Hunger bunt in his eyes, but he did let go of Sam.

Cursing the sadist's dirty mind and insatiable hunger, he threw his clothes into a corner and walked into the shower. It was their first time doing it in the shower, but they had done it far worse places like outside the house when Drake had been feeling in an odd mood. Odd in the degree that he wanted to sex up Sam on furniture, over a table or a desk or some other wickedly weird kinky shit.

One time, Drake had managed to lure Sam out by shoving him out on the veranda and screwing him over the fence, fully aware that if someone passed by the hero's whole reputation would be ruined. More than he already was, anyway.

Sam guessed it gave Drake some sort of sadistic pleasure to do the naughty in public places, getting excitement out of how mentally tortured Sam acted knowing that if someone saw them, everything would be over for him.

The shower was quite nice though, standing in the corner of the bathroom. Tiled walls and floor, blue and white, were also built in to look like a square shower lacking one side. That remaining one side was made of thick tinted glass, a large glass door that had been a little hard to close as long as Sam could remember. It made no sound as Sam pulled it open though, Drake following after.

Turning the shower on while ignoring potential caresses, warm water streamed over them, Sam also ignored the fact that he'd had a shower the same day. For a moment – and only for a moment – he considered to grab the shower head and smack it into Drake's face, just for the hell of it. Choosing the option that wouldn't get him beaten up, he sighed and turned around, only to stare right into the face of Drake Merwin. His silver eyes were shut, and by his almost peaceful facial expression it looked like he enjoyed himself. The soaked sand-blonde hair hang in bangs covering his face.

Not for long. In a flash, Drake had him trapped, immediately shoving him into the tinted glass walls of the shower, making the auburn-haired uke wince. Drake hated it when he complained, so instead of throwing out some mildly offending comment he instead crashed his lips again the sadist's, wrapping his arms around him and dragged his body closer. Their temples interacted, Drake resting his entire body-weight on Sam, crushing him into the wall. "You said that I didn't use enough foreplay-"

"Actually I said that you didn't use any," Sam pointed out, "at all."

He revived an ice-cold look for the interruption. "Yes, anyway, you complain too much usually so today is a special play. I'll _foreplay _ you until you're begging. That should be enough, huh?"

"Fuck you."

"No Sammy, fuck _you_," Drake promised in a husky voice, lips demanding once more. Not faced with always being a bottom, Sam shoved him off, taking him on surprise and therefore managing to switch their positions, so now he was the one shoving Drake into the shower's wall.

Dominating.

God it felt good.

But perhaps god wasn't someone you turned to in such a situation.

"Playing on top today, Sammy?" Drake used the irritating nickname just to get underneath Sam's skin, his tone of voice mocking and teasing just like the tentacle travelling downwards. He used his human hand to grab Sam's chin and forcing their mouths together. When parting, an insane grin lit up his features. He tightened his hold and raised an eyebrow. "You really should have lost some weight by now," he commented, yet aware that the content in his hand was just baby fat.

"Shut up." Sam snarled, heat rising in his face, which was quite astounding really, since normally his blood usually flew other places when their bare bodies were so close (and they weren't attempting to murder each other as viciously as possible)."I'm not fat."

"Never said you were." A small snigger – did Sam really care what the hell Drake meant about him? "But you aren't skin and bones like most of the stupid Townies," Drake's tongue flickered out like a snake's and licked Sam's bottom lip, adoring the annoyed expression. It humoured him, because he thought Sam looked like a pouting child unable to get its will. "Not that it's a compliment. Just stating how strange it is."

"It's because I'm a four-bar and they need to keep me alive if any battles coming up," the tad of bitterness didn't go unnoticed, "So they store me away somewhere and regularly gives me food."

"Like a pet," Drake said, cupping Sam's head up and forcing him to look at his (what Drake considered himself to be) master.

"Yeah," Sam murmured back, staring right into those mercuric veils of insanity without a flicker of hesitance. It was bizarre – eye contact during a scene like this was rare. "Though don't get any ideas, Merwin. I am my own master." Before Drake would try proving his statement wrong, his fingers had slid down to take a hold of Drake's hard sex. "You're kinda aroused _already_," Sam raised an eyebrow, provoking a reaction out of Drake, "And you call me a slut."

"Enough with the bad offends already," Drake snarled, "I have better use for that foul little mouth of yours..." The infamous shark grin returned moments after. Sam's pressed his lips together in a firm line, not finding a good enough insult that was worth throwing away at that moment, saving it for later. He tried to ignore the fact that while Drake had spoken, his tentacle had slowly made its way around Sam's neck.

Both being very naked, and very, very close, the sexual atmosphere in the shower cabinet surrounded them both, the only sound being not-quite laboured breathing and water hitting the ground. Sam didn't bother stir against when the tentacle tightened its hold – not enough to be choking, but still – and guided him on his knees in front of his foe. Drake's grin widened and threatened to swallow half his face, "Suck me off like the good pet you are, and maybe I'll grant your wish about cumming hot, hard and sticky like always."

Sam vaguely wondered whenever to bite Drake because of the humiliating demand, however decided against it since he did not seem in a mood good enough to bear more insults. Drake's fingers were soon tangled in his hair, running through it almost lovingly, guiding him to his destination. Teasingly, while keeping his breathing steady, Sam took a hold of Drake's hips, gazing right at the thing he was just about to swallow. "You're eager today," Drake noted, smiling like an ill person.

"Shut it."

He took Drake into his hands as if he was a ice-cream coon, licking it nonchalantly, shutting his eyes so he didn't see the familiar twinkling in those silver orbs watching him intensely. It didn't take long to make Drake lean his head backwards and just enjoy the continued ministrations to his cock, feeling himself getting harder and harder.

God had already damned lust to Hell, but Drake felt the sudden need to say it anyway – "Goddammit," he breathed, all that good licking making such _deliciously_ sloppy noises, as Sam's tongue wandered down his entire length resulted in his legs feeling like destructible mush, or perhaps human Jell-O.

"Take the whole thing into your mouth!"

"Patience is a virtue, Merwin," Sam said huskily, finally looking up, only to see the one standing above him shaking like a statute under an earthquake, struggling to keep on standing.

Hot water streamed across their bodies, and Sam couldn't help to think how innocent Drake looked with his wet hair glued to his forehead, body trembling, and eyes closed in pleasure and wait. "You'd do well to make up for your sins sometime."

The wicked and the wild.

"I'd rather be a sinner," Drake confessed to his own bringer of pain and pleasure – his own personal little Jesus. Jesus and Satan. Water and fire. Villain and hero. Evil and good. Yin and Yang. Two sides of the same coin – total opposites – but destined to be together forever.

Drake liked that.

To be together forever. And...

Destiny.

(_'Think about it,' _Drake said to himself, shit-eating grin growing with each brain cell that comprehended the newly-learned and selv-made prophesy. _'Just think about it:'_)

_**Destined**_ to pound **his** Sammy into the madras – or in this case, the wall in a shower – until none of them could remember their names.

Drake massaged Sam's scalp, human hand tangling itself in the auburn mess, tentacle (which was about his double arm length) sneaking down to between Sam's legs to play with his growing arousal. He guessed that Sam seeing him in such a state made the older boy go all sexually frustrated, so why not be nice for once and cut the kid some slack? And indeed, although being younger, Drake _knew_ he was the dominant one in their sick partnership. Then he noted that Sam had stopped teasing him and was now leaning his head against Drake's knee, making gentle sounds of pleasure. Drake would have none of it.

With a quick change of mind, he let go of Sam and pushed him away from himself, his own painfully erect member reminding him of not offending or hurting Sam too bad.

He started kissing the nicely tanned flesh presented to him, silently thanking whoever responsible that Sam wasn't all unattractive skin and bones. No, although thin, Sam still was presentable in comparison to the other Townies and miserable gang left at Coates (though not so miserable anymore after Drake's little thievery).

Drake led Sam up again, noticing how Sam wasn't blushing but instead enjoying the whole thing quite intensely, getting really into it. Really, _really_ into it. They both bent forward at the same time, Drake making sure Sam's entire attention was on him and him only before kissing him quickly, turning his head to the side and engulfing that sweet mouth that fit perfectly into his own. It was a little harsh at first, and he only managed two wet kisses before Sam pulled away a few centimetres, to breathe and to comprehend.

It was uncommon for them to be in such a situation. Was some bullet stuck in Drake's brain or something? Usually, they would fuck on the bed and then Drake would get his ass back on Coates. How he managed getting up and down from Perdido Beach to the infamous school for 'bad kids' was something Sam considered none of his business. It was an unwritten rule – if one of them got caught, no information would be exchanged, even if they knew little about each other, even under torment and threats.

However, this time, it was different. Instead of focusing entirely on getting off, they'd somehow ended up in a shower, Drake with several cuts and wounds and hornier than ever, actually playing with his prey before gormandizing it. They'd never done as much foreplay as now, and Sam found himself enjoying it a little too much. That nasty feeling inside he tried to hide and always tried get rid off built itself up in his chest.

It was his own fault, allowing Drake to use his shower and entering it without as much as a single warning that things might develop between them. They met up and fucked. What they did **not** do, however, was saving each other's asses when things got bad and actually exchanged _pleasure_ to the other that **did not **give pleasure to the bringer. What the hell was up with that?

Still, they hadn't talked extremely much but... Sam felt as if something, something little, but something important, had been changed between them.

Drake's tentacle loosened from around Sam's hands and wrapped around Sam's middle instead, pulling the lesser body towards his own again. Chest rising and falling quicker now, he adjusted his erection to brush against Sam's, loving the ecstatic gasp that left the horny four-bar's mouth with the interaction. "Mine," Drake decided in a husky tone as his ever-so-hungry mouth moved towards Sam's neck again. A hand longing to touch wrapped around the back of Drake's head and ran through sand-blonde hair; guiding him to go lower to continue down where the collarbone was and over the vulnerable pulse vein.

Soon, in a matter of seconds, Sam found his mouth again, grinning a bit as he bit down on Drake's bottom lip, dragging it out a bit before letting go and continuing to make out with him.

He stretched out his arms to resemble a X right over Drake's neck, kisses becoming slower and sloppier, and Sam taking various pauses to breathe properly, small groans of want escaping him, temperature rising noticeably. Drake groped him, smirking, and wrapped his hand around Sam's manhood.

Stroking Sam with unbearable slowness, the auburn-haired uke groaned, "Go faster!"

"Then turn against the wall and spread your legs!" Deciding it would be much more brutal without the water running and ruining the orchestra of the sweet moans Sam regularly produced, Drake turned off the shower and started stroking Sam 'till readiness, all while forcing his little son of a bitch around. Then when Sam started slapping Drake's fingers away – deciding it was too slow for his standards – and try finish the matter at hand himself, Drake felt sudden anger rush through him and before he'd even managed to control his actions he'd punched Sam and sent him down on the hard bathroom floor.

"Didn't you hear me Temple? Face against the wall, legs spread, ready for preparation, without me needing to punish you, right?"

Perhaps in another life Sam would have struggled, bitten, screamed and fought violently for freedom, disallowing the silver-eyed monster to take him so easily as this.

Perhaps.

In lieu of that, Sam stumbled to his feet, aware that following those demands was better than objecting. He positioned himself, trying in vain to take a hold of the smooth tile-wall, but Drake instead used his infamous non-human arm to wrap around Sam's arms and holding them right above his head. "Like handcuffs," Drake mumbled.

"Yeah," Sam replied breathlessly, too _into_ the situation to care about such things as lack of pride.

The hands were like...

Silvery handcuffs.

Twinkling, silvery handcuffs.

No. Oh no, it wasn't the handcuffs that were twinkling in such a bright shiny grey colour – it was Drake's eyes lightening with sick interest when he sucked on two fingers, moisturising them with spit, and shoved them up Sam's ass all while resting his head on Sam's right shoulder. Sam gritted his teeth together as his rear was extended, feeling how lightening – the same that lived in Drake's eyes – rushed through his body, hurting him, but still not enough to make him quiver in fear.

The whip-arm tightened around his hands, making sure he wouldn't escape. "Hurts?"

"Pretty damned much," Sam replied, his body glinting in raw sweat.

"Good. Don't want you pussy'ing out on me."

"Turn on the shower then, asshole."

"Why? I like the music of your pathetically satisfying begging. My little monster."

"You want my ex-girlfriend to discover us and make me unable to see you anymore?" The threat hung in the air for a couple of seconds, Sam using the time to adjust a bit because of the always alien experience of having something up in your ass, while Drake finally understood it.

"Fine, everything for you, my favourite little son of a bitch."

Water streamed over them again, Drake turning the heat up and twisting the button that made the jet of pure warm water increase. "But don't you mistake my actions for kindness, you little bitch. I hate you, I just like to fuck you since you're the only person who'd know better than to tell the whole world about our unromantic affair," (as black as ebony), "and that's the only reason I'm not murdering here and now. But I swear Sammy, if you ever get in my way, I'll shoot you down just like I've shot every other motherfucker who has tried to mess with me." Drake gave a rather pompous snort that could have been taught by the oh so mighty Caine Soren (or Temple?), and twisted his fingers just to prove his point. "You'd do well to remember that."

Sam winced, but refused to whimper or scream, "Yeah yeah, I know, you're a cold-hearted son of a bitch blah blah blah heard it all before. You know what they say about angry people Drake. Small penises, y'know," Sam retorted with a malevolent sneer.

Drake finished the preparation, eager to get inside, and pissed off by Sam's endless offending of his masculinity when he knew it wasn't true, although Sam still didn't scream. Sam tensed and felt the sudden feeling of emptiness overflow him as the three fingers left him, but they were soon replaced by Drake's hardened member, forcing an entrance as quickly as it could manage – almost forgetting to grab the bottle of lube on the counter and clashing the material on his cock.

The sadist wasted no time in sweet words or pleasant kisses, just pulling out and thrusting his way back in before Sam could make a noise. Those inner walls felt good around him, and he could feel Sam leaning against the shower wall, his feet slipping across the ground, making it hard to screw him properly. His chest rose and fell repeatedly just like last time, and he leaned his cheek against the wall, taking in the cold. He started jacking himself off. The tentacle soon found other things to do and to function as a leash for Sammy the dog, and instead wrapped around the higher part of Sam's legs, holding it up, so Drake would have better access to his sweet ass.

It did not take long before Drake exploded, cumming with a growl drowned out by the sound of water running.

And as the thick remains of Drake's cum ran down Sam's legs, he felt oddly confident. It was safe to say that Drake came before Sam did, and this seemed to piss the sand-blond off, so the tentacle wrapped around his still-hard member and jerked him off until Sam cried out. He then fell against the shower wall, breathing heavily. He drew his knees up to his chest, watching as Drake did the same thing as the opposite side, just that he didn't bother hiding anything and his legs were instead stretched out completely.

Sam turned towards the dew on the glass door, and found it pretty.

Sexiest time ever – the aftermath. Both boys lying, exhausted, at the cold floor, the water still running. Sam smirked, and Drake smirked, and there were no words to describe the plain adoration of the situation and for the situation. "Drake?" The first name was uncommon on his tongue – except when crying it out during a particularly hard orgasm – but it just... It just _felt_ right.

"Um?" The guy wasn't the one for after-sex-talk, but Sam couldn't care less.

"What are we?"

A grunt. "Whatcha mean? We? Monsters, sort of."

"No not... morally. I mean... the two of us. We're most certainly not boyfriends... And although being my enemy, you're not my enemy when we partake in such actions."

"Fuck-buddies?"

"Too crude." Sam wrinkled on his nose in disgust, making Drake roll his eyes. "What about... Sexual partners? That we're involved in a sexual partnership I mean."

Drake gave a short laugh, though it wasn't directly evil or mocking, merely amused. "I didn't think you'd be able to make fuck-buddies into a nicer word and make it sound as if our – what did you call it? – _partnership _was 'cos of luck, not you being attracted enough to me to let me in between your legs."

"Ain't you attracted to me as well, jerk-face?" Sam said sourly, feeling like a damsel in the distress. The day Drake stood and shouted on him to 'let down his hair so he could climb up and give a kiss of freedom' was the day Astrid Ellison turned Satanist.

"Hm," Drake smirked like a sly fox, "get on my lap and we'll see." Sam rolled his eyes and crawled forward on all fours, much like an animal, his back bending downwards in the shape of a lying bracket or a stretched-out u, Drake slinking down. Sam started slowly kissing his neck, tasting him, biting a bit as well, feeling that soft skin underneath his teeth almost melting underneath the touch of his tongue.

_I drag my teeth across your skin to taste your beating heart._

"Oh yes, very much so," Drake mumbled, smiling faintly and just enjoying the love marks Sam left there, especially when the boy started sucking lightly on his nipple, taking use of the sensitive skin there. It wasn't enough to make Drake nor Sam hard, but enough to keep them occupied enough to not move.

Then someone decided to interrupt the sexy time.

"_Sam_! Are you in there?"

Sam bit down in shock, making Drake wince and shove to the side, away.

Oh holy fuck.

That bitch needed to die.

Right. Now.

In this very second someone nice needed to grab a butcher knife and slit her throat and then rape her dead body back to life until she screamed for it to end and he'd only stop when she'd realized what a big mistake she'd done when ruining the sexy aftermath time of Drake Merwin.

Sadistic? Quite. But this was Drake we're talking about.

Noticing how the steam wasn't just coming from the warm water, Sam quickly smacked a hand in front of Drake's mouth to prevent any colourful language to escape. "Astrid?" Sam called back.

"For Christ's sake Sam!" Oh hell the irony. It was as if the almighty god himself had chosen her, a perfect Christian girl, to remind him of his sins by calling the holy son's name. "You're using up all the warm water!" Okay maybe not god. "What's wrong with you today? I mean I know you've already showered once before. Have you fallen in a pit of mud or something, and you know Petey needs his regular bath since he's unable to take care of himself because of his mental disabilities and he's running out of proper diapers-"

Drake and Sam kind of blocked her out right after that, Drake harshly whispering "You get that damned Ass-turd away from hearing-range. Like hell I'm letting her ruin our... _partnership_."

Hm. So he did care. Sam was shocked, but didn't comment upon it, but it did make him all warm inside. He ignored the repeated "don't get any ideas I just want your ass" poor excuse speech.

"-and thus I'd like you to exit the bathroom quickest, or-"

Sam kissed Drake slowly, trying to flash a calm grin, "Calm down. I'll get her away." He swallowed a lungful of air along with his sore pride (which was almost non-existent from before), and went towards the door. "Astrid?" he cut her off, "I kinda forgot clothes. Could you please go and wait ten minutes to let me dry myself and run into my room at least?"

"Does this mean you're nake- Oi." Sam could almost _hear_ her going all red, and smiled a bit, blithe. Drake stole a glance at him and narrowed his eyes, something close to jealousy (of course it was NOT jealousy, he was no pathetic human being that felt such things that only dragged you down, because he was not humane enough to feel such a damned emotion such as jealousy! HE FELT NOTHING OF THAT SORT!) building up in his chest. He knew Sam still liked that control-freak bitch whore cunt ass Astrid Ellison with her retard brother and want to own Sam, however it was possible, but Sam was his and not hers and he would like it to stay that way.

"Yes, yes, of course I'll move out of the way!" Astrid hurried to say, and you didn't need to be a genius to tell that she was blushing like mad on the other side of the door. "I'm sorry Sam, I didn't mean to interrupt you..." she was rambling.

"It's okay Astrid!" Sam called back, laughter in his voice, all while dressing up in his well-used t-shirt.

"I'm going now!"

"You do that," Sam called after her. There was the familiar _tap! tap! tap!_ outside the door, vanishing completely after a slam of a metal door.

Trying to hide his jealousy, his effin _envy_, Drake rose from his position instead, grabbing a towel and started towelling himself dry without casting a single look at Sam.

Sam laughed breathlessly, smiling kindly, not noticing the murderous expression on his foe's face, "She's kinda cute 'n innocent, isn't she?" The question wasn't really directed at Drake, but the sadist still felt as if Sam had punched him in the jaw and after that shoved a dagger through his beating heart. The bitterness of betrayal – why would he feel that?

There was silence, and then suddenly Drake turned towards Sam, fuming. Sam's eyes went wide, "D-Drake? What the hell-?"

"I'll tell you what the hell," Drake glowered, spitting each word. He then kissed Sam. When pulling away, he found himself shocked when Sam blinked back at him with big owl-eyes instead of fear or... or... What had he expected? Respect? Respect comes from fear, and there was way too little fear in those midnight-blue veils. "You little bitch. Does it feel good?"

"W-What?"

"You know what I mean. Toying with her like this."

"Who?"

"Ellison!"

Sam really looked like he didn't understand.

"Oh for fuck's sake – don't you get it? Are you really that slow? I asked, does it feel good to toy with Astrid Ellison's emotions like she's some sort of pet, pretending to be in love with her and laugh of her pathetic attempts to make you interested again, when we both know you're more interested in men? Does it feel good to know you can woe her to your power, making her do anything you will, while you're secretly screwing me everyday right underneath her unsuspecting nose? Does it feel good, to have those crystal blue eyes look at you with trust and shit when you know you break and betray it each day?" He was whispering the entire thing, but still his cheeks were flaming red with anger.

Sam paled. Guilt sneaked into those blue eyes, making Drake think he had succeeded on bringing the unimportant little shit to his knees again, ready to suck Drake's dick like always. Then it stopped. "You're... You're envious of her, aren't you?"

Drake was taken completely aback. He even took a step backwards, mouth hanging open. "W-What did you say?"

"You. You envy her, because I care for her. You... You don't care as little as you say you do." Something alien shone in Sam's quiet but stern voice. He shifted uncomfortably, and reached up to rub the upper part of his arm, like someone had hit him there, a clear sign of uncertainty.

Drake reacted on instinct.

INSTINCT.

So without thinking, almost, to protect himself, he extended a hand and smacked Sam's across the face. It left an angry red hand-formed mark, and it obviously hurt, because Sam reached for it and winced as soon as his fingers touched the sensitive skin there.

"Why did-"

Then Drake grabbed the collar of his shirt, paying little attention to the lack of pants on them both. "Shut up for a moment Sammy, just for a moment. Let me talk a bit about somethin' important." He brought Sam's face closer, tone dangerous and the side of his lip quirked upwards so sparkling shark-teeth were shown, turning blueish because of the light. "I am not jealous of that _bitch_. I just want you to realize that you're not as good as you think you are."

"I don't think I'm-"

_Smack!_

"I told you to shut up, didn't?" A short, almost hysterical chuckle. "Regardless of that, you need to _understand _something." Drake lifted Sam off the ground so his feet were swinging in the air, releasing small sounds of disagreement while hanging there in Drake's stoic grip, "Listen. I don't like you. I hate your guts, hell, I hate everything about you. The only thing that keeps me from breaking your motherfucking neck here and now is that you're probably the _weakest_ most _pathetic _creature in this upside-down fishbowl, and you happen to suit my sexual taste. You don't give no resistance and you don't deny me my right to do whatever I want with your body. Hell, you suck my dick like a good whore and you don't even complain much, heh!"

Another set of dark chuckles, just as hysterical as those before.

"The only reason I'm with you is that, okay? I don't like you one bit. I just like screwing your brains out. Got it?"

He sat down Sam, who struggled for oxygen.

A few seconds passed.

"Eh? We do have an unde_r_standing, _rrrrr_ight?"

"Yes!" Sam said quickly, afraid to get beaten up again. He had one mark on each cheek now, and didn't want to get more damaged.

"Good." Drake headed for the door, now wearing his dirty, blood-stained clothes. Sam didn't find the inspiration to tell him off, instead just followed him out, not caring that those ten minutes might have passed and Astrid could storm out of the room anyway. Drake went straight to Sam's room, the owner running just in his heels as he entered.

Was Drake right? Sam's expression was a permanent frown, thoughts running through his head. God, how stupid he'd been! He'd actually thoughts Drake cared for him! Sam felt the sudden (but not unfamiliar) urge to hit himself. Twice. Hadn't it been for the fact that the embarrassment would worsen, being right in front of Drake and all, he'd actually done it.

"You could borrow some clothes if you'd like," Sam offered quietly when they stood in his room, door closed.

"Tch. I don't need anything more from the likes of you. Like I said, I was here to get laid and I did, end of story and discussion. Go do whatever the fuck you'd like to do," Drake said, getting ready to climb out the window.

"But it's still not late enough for the sun to have gone down." Casting a look at the window, Sam noticed that it was still light enough for Drake to be super easily spotted. That wasn't good, and he couldn't help but care if Drake would get caught, but...

"I'll manage. Stop worrying so much, you sound like a woman, Temple. And if you haven't noticed all ready I'm not too fond of women because they-"

"Nag too much yeah heard it before," Sam finished for him, but crossed his arms still. "You can stay, y'know. If you get caught there'll be no one left to fool around with, and we both know that would suck." He attempted to sound casual about it.

Drake cast a negative look in his direction, "Stop licking my shoes, if I'd not known better I'd thought you were in love with me."

"Well sorry for not being an emotionless cold bastard such as you," Sam threw back, regaining some of his pride. Why had he even bothered? Drake was damned anyway, why did he care to help? Sam was about to turn around when he noticed the red staining Drake's already bloodied shirt. His eyebrows shot up by the unexpected discovery, and he grabbed hold of Drake's dark shirt only to discover it wet with a substance that could only be blood.

"You reopened your wounds," Sam said.

"No shit Sherlock," Drake threw back, pissed that Sam had found out another weakness. He didn't like it when people looked down at him, and this was a splendid opportunity for blue eyes becoming full of pity again. Drake loathed when someone pitied him, it made him feel so... useless, which was a feeling he didn't experience so often. "Let go. I can handle myself." When Sam just pulled him backwards, Drake spat angrily, "Get your filthy hands off me!"

"Goddamn it Merwin keep the volume down! If you run out now with that speed – I did notice your slowness, I'm not blind y'know – in broad daylight you'll get caught. Just lay down, shut up, and let me take care of you! I'm not burying your soon-to-be-corpse so either get freaking move on and do as I say _for once_!" Sam exhaled deeply. Drake was staring at him, not knowing how to respond when people bossed him around like that.

It was Drake's first insight in Sam's true feelings towards himself.

But of course, he was too much of an arrogant idiot to think it through – why would Sam really help him like this? He had no reason. But Drake being Drake, he didn't think too much about it, just sat down on Sam's bed. He wanted nothing more than to turn to where the window was and crawl out, using the bed as a method to get higher up so he could get his whole body out from there.

Sam felt the urge to slap him, and went towards his closet. Drake shrugged when he told him to stay there, appearing nonchalant about the whole thing. Sam soon found a non-used shirt in the odd system he had in his closet; something that told Drake that he hadn't much of a life when Drake wasn't there doing the usual, and held up the black shirt and an old pair of jeans. "Will this do?"

Drake shrugged and grabbed the water bottle that stood there, caring little for the fact that Sam had drunk of it before. His Adams apple bobbed up and down slightly, water running down from his mouth, collection at the tip of his chin before a drop fell down. Sam recalled that it had happened to him as well, and only now he saw how erotic the sight was. Sam did find Drake handsome, he was already super sure of that. Not hot, nor beautiful (like his own twin-brother who had apparently gotten the looks and the smartass attitude) but handsome enough for no plastic bag to be thrown over his face each time they were screwing.

"You can remove your own clothes, right?"

"Actually, no. You seem to be convinced I'm so sick I can't climb out a damn window, so I guess I can't take off my clothes either."

Sam rolled his eyes at the outburst. Honestly, he was like a child sometimes. But swiftly helping him strip, he sighed and held Drake's arms up to take his clothes off. Drake watched him, a little uncertain whether to punch him in the gut for agreeing to Drake being weak or just letting him help.

"They're definitely gonna create scars," he said, and let a thin finger run down the naked chest presented to him. He then got the new shirt, widening out the hole for the head so Drake wouldn't have to move, Sam thinking about the long, deep wound he just discovered. He remember his lips running over it when kissing Drake's neck, the slightly marred parts, but hadn't thought much of it, too lost in the erotic display of sexual gluttony.

"I don't care." Drake felt proud of himself since he managed to avoid spilling out some information about the Coates gang state – he'd almost told them how miserable they'd been before Drake's heroic (oh yes) little act of self-sacrifice from preventing them all from starving to death. Caine hadn't even muttered a thanks, just bolted a can of beans raw before locking himself up in his room again.

"Mhm. Right." Sam helped him out of his pants without much strain, tossing him some clean boxers before he helped with the pants. When Drake made some abnormal noise, Sam sent him a curious glance, "What?"

"It's strange."

"What?"

"Usually you're the one removing my pants, not putting them on." Drake smirked. "What now?"

"Shut up." Sam pushed him down, standing up and stretching his arms. "There's not much else to do and even if you're gonna deny it, you look bone-tired-"

"I'm not-"

"You are," Sam argued sternly, pushing Drake down again when he tried to rise up to defend his unfinished statement, "tired. Those ugly dark circles speak for themselves. Just lay down, jeeze. I'll exit the room if it's that much of an issue."

"No." Drake crossed his arms. "If I'm gonna lay here, you're gonna lay here with me. Making sure you won't stab me in the back while I'm sleeping."

"I won't," Sam said, but gave a heavy sigh and lay down beside him. Drake looked nastily at him and moved over to give him some space, all while those silver orbs never left Sam for a second. Sam pretended not to notice, and stretched his arms upwards, switching sides so he was facing the door. Soon it became to hot and he slipped out of his shirt, thereafter under the covers, silently helping Drake (who had removed his own shirt in hope for some action) under as well.

A muscular hand slipped around his waist, bringing Sam closer to Drake, obviously a try from Drake's side to woe him into something sexual, but, Sam ignored this. Drake shook his head with dissatisfaction under the covers, sour that Sam couldn't see it.

"You will stay, right?"

What? Was that weakness, in his own voice?

Drake was about to correct himself with something more macabre when he felt Sam squeeze his hand comfortingly. "Yeah yeah, I won't leave you here to rot. We're partners, you idiot, remember?"

The tiniest glimpse of an emotion Drake was unfamiliar with, but knew, after experiences with what shone in Caine Soren's brown eyes when he looked at that wretched witch... No. It couldn't be. The lack of sleep was draining his already unimpressive IQ.

It did not take long before Drake's breathing became regular, and Sam easily slipped out from the grasp. He knew the young psychopath was a light sleeper, because he'd been plagued by vile nightmares as a kid, but he also knew just the right steps to take in his room to prevent waking the sleeping dragon. Like a prince escaping from death, he went out and locked the door after him. Luckily Astrid wasn't there to question him.

Sam felt a pinch of undeserved guilt tricking with his mind.

If it was because of thinking such negative thoughts about Astrid or if it was because of not trusting her, he didn't know.

Because he didn't realize the guilt came from not keeping his promise to Drake.

.

.

_No._

He did not - could not - feel anything for that bastard. The very idea was stupid and childish, so unlike him that it stung. He wasn't in love for Christ's sake!

Sam stood up from bed out of a sudden, as if awoken from a nightmare. He must've fallen asleep, but his brain had continued going on with all the thoughts he'd struggled with lately.

"You awake, bitch?" Drake asked, smirking.

Sam stared at him. He was sitting in the window, looking as smug as ever. So he had never planned on staying.

So Sam did the only thing logical to him at the moment - he reached out and pushed Drake out of the window. There was a _dunk!_ and a "Son-of-a-bitch!"... and for the first time in weeks, Sam had never slept better.

Although a reaction with such force was yet another sign of those secret feelings he harboured for the psychopath, and this time it was far too easy to see, so even Drake caught the sign of "affection". After he'd come over the immense rage he felt, of course.


	3. Avaritia

**Disclaimer: **Do I look like an old Canadian man to you? No? So no owning Gone™.

**A/N: **I RPed 1/4 of this chapter with **JokerGrace** a year ago (lol) so some of these lines are hers. Kudos to her. ❤

This have some _Mad Friends_ references, with da' hurt!Drake n stuff 8D I have a tendecy to put my fics in the same universe when they're kind of we-don't-know-if-it-really-happened ish. Just like this crap. How do we know if Sam and Drake were goin' at it each night? Riiight. We don't. Anywayz, gonna shut my pie hole now and let you read~

As per usual, **DreamCatcher96** is a wonderful beta-reader.

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**Onyx: III**

_"They can never get enough of each other."_

**Avaritia **(avarice/greed)

An eager desire or longing; greediness; as, a greed of gain.

.

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_Sam was dreaming, and was vaguely aware of it, too._

_There were people dying around him. Beside him, over him and even underneath him. A bloodied mess of corpses and half-dead people he knew, none screaming but all looking at him as their last hope for a saviour. But he just stood by and let them die, met the eyes of every single one of them, feeling nothing. _

_Five ice-cold skeleton-like fingers were laid on each of his shoulders, as cold as death. But he welcomed it, going backwards so his back bumped into the person's chest. The hands made him turn around and he met a familiar face smiling back at him with the Grim Reaper's calmness. _

_"It's alright," Drake whispered, "It's all alright." His hands, his clothes and his face were covered in fresh blood. He smiled a serial killer smile and Sam returned it with broken innocence, growing more and more comfortable and leaning into the touch._

_And then he noticed that his own hands were just as stained._

_Oddly enough, it didn't make him feel anything more than satisfaction._

_He hungered for the person in front of him, more than anything else. But it was the sort of hunger that eating wouldn't satisfy - he would take and take and take until there was nothing left. Drake returned those feelings, dragging Sam deeper into the hellhole, offering less and less escapes out of their dangerous romance._

_He wanted unnecessary things. He wanted stupid things. He wanted things everybody wanted but nobody deserved. All those things could be summed up in one person, and one person only - Drake Merwin. Drake gave him all things he so deeply wanted._

_"Mine," Drake whispered, "Mine."  
><em>

.

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_'So, let go, let go  
>Jump in<br>Oh well, what you waiting for?  
>It's all right<br>'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown__'_

"Let Go"; Frou Frou

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.

Drake slinked in right next to the window, having climbed all up there in complete silence. He was as lithe as a shadow, or water, avoiding to be seen at all costs. He peered into the room, eyes taking a second to adjust, going from complete darkness to bright light. The boy was alone in the room. Perfect.

His feet made a gentle thump on the carpet.

Sam was too busy focusing on the task in front of him to even notice the creature entering the room. He leant back in his chair, sighing, bringing the pencil up to his mouth and chewing on it. The paper in front of him was still empty, but his expression told that his thoughts were far from simple.

The only sounds in the room was his intense scribbling. His pencil broke in half and he cursed, soon sharpening it with half-closed eyes. It wasn't as if he was tired or something, he was just sick of all the working he'd been forced to do that day.

Currently, he was in the town's council house. The room wasn't big, but he guessed it had been a small meeting room before the FAYZ. There was a long table there, and all the chairs except his had been moved to the other room where the real meeting was. He wasn't allowed in since he wasn't a part of _that_ part of the council according to Astrid Ellison. She'd said _this_ was more his line of work, given him short instructions and sent him in here. Although he understood it (and believed it, like the naïve kid he was), it made him feel slightly hurt.

Sam curled over the table, and started going over the assignment again, trying to write a good report on what they could do to change the upcoming starvation situation in Perdido Beach. He hadn't even started.

Drake moved quietly, as if crawling around a room that was filled with sleeping lions. He waited until he was right behind Sam before speaking. Curling his whip around Sam's neck, he smirked, waiting for a reaction, "It was open."

Sam jumped, resulting in him almost falling off the chair. He knew that voice - that smooth, crooning voice that always had a thick layer of mischief in it. He stood up and spun around quickly, one fist interacting with the table as an outlet of the rage he felt. "You're not supposed to be here," he hissed from in-between gritted teeth.

"Like I said," Drake repeated, his eyebrows drawn together into a frown. "The window was open."

Out of a sudden, Sam's attention was on Drake's clothes. Usually he'd wear as little as possible (motto being 'what was the point of clothes when he was going to take them off anyway?'), and this grey, long-sleeved shirt was utmost unusual and Sam hadn't seen it on him before. Not that Drake looked bad, but it was enough to cause a slight suspicion.

Then he was brought back to reality.

"It was almost screaming for me to enter," Drake drawled.

Sam's lips formed an invisible line. "Get out," he ordered, "I won't be responsible if they find you here. And besides, it's not even over midnight. Can you try keeping your dick in your pants 'til _after_ that?" His blue eyes blinked angrily, as he took a step forward as to appear threatening.

"They've never caught us before, Temple." There was too much talking in this meeting, and Drake knew it. The thing inside him was growing more impatient.

"Go die, Merwin. I don't want you here."

That was quite enough from the bitch. Drake had no control of it, it was a natural reaction - he slapped Sam straight across the cheek, leaving a stinging red mark, just like he'd done before. "Shut the fuck up. Don't want me here? Close the fuckin' window. But now I'm here, and I'm not leaving."

Sam fumed. Steam would soon come up from his head - but he just stayed angry, slowly turning his head. "Fine. Go mope in a corner or something. I'm not here to entertain you, but at least try to keep hidden. I won't be responsible if they find you and imprison you."

"That's no fun, Temple," Drake said, ignoring the urge to slap some more sense into Sam again.

"I have work."

"What? Did Ellison shove a bible up your ass or something? Do it later," Drake asked, throwing Sam's papers away, making them scatter about.

"Jeeze," Sam said after a pause, not angry but merely annoyed, "I swear you're like a little kid sometimes." He went to pick up the papers, one of them just out of reach on the table. He lay as long as an eel, stretching out to grab it, when he felt a very familiar warmth rub itself against his backpart.

"That's more like it Sammy... Bending over and everything, it must be really hard for you to resist me, even if you try hiding it behind big words..." Drake grabbed Sam's belt and undid it easily, all while the four-bar had quite some problems understanding what happened. Realizing that he was a victim of molestation, he fought back, trying to get out of the stoic grip, and Drake responded by smacking his head to the table so that Sam was having a long-term discussion with it.

"Use that energy on other things..." he traile doff, smiling, even.

Sam finally stopped fighting, but refused to respond, although Drake did all the work of removing his clothes. Then he recalled that the door was open. "Go lock it, Merwin," Sam ordered, "and I'll show you _willingness_."

Not particularly happy about leaving his pet, Drake first only continued to undress Sam. But when the boy's uncooperative status became too much to bear, he gave an unsatisfied growl and moved off Sam. "Fine," he muttered, going over to the door and twisting the key.

He wouldn't mind if the wannabe hero's stupid friends came in - what difference would it make to him? But he could comprehend that it meant something to Sam, and he convinced himself it was just to keep Sam fuckable and tone his angst level down a bit.

When he went back on the table, Sam was already kicking off his boxers, secretly glad he had an (although twisted) excuse to not work. He stretched his arms forward, and when Drake neared, came towards him. Drake frowned - they hadn't done it any other place than in Sam's house, and Sam seemed a little too comfortable than he was used to.

Oh well.

Sam let himself be lead to the table, getting lifted up by Drake, who was far too busy kissing him than give any mocking comments despite the sudden willingness.

"Déjà vu," he muttered in-between kisses. Upon noticing Drake's curious face, he smirked and buried his face in Drake's neck, "We've been in this position before, haven't we? Thought you were fond of trying new things…" He trailed off, only to have Drake yank at his hair so their eyes met.

"Originality? Why didn't you say you wanted that, then, my greedy little bastard?"

Then he switched their positions. Sam was now underneath Drake, a victim to the sadist's cruel ways, allowing the bastard to slowly strip him of his jacket, one button at the time. He had more than enough with keeping up with the mindless kisses Drake planted everywhere.

When the jacket and t-shirt was off, Drake again acted quickly, turning Sam around so the boy again had a full-length conversation with the table. Sam was getting used to it now. It was cold against his bare skin, but he was reluctant not to let it show. Drake had stopped, breathing hard while letting his hand rub against Sam's ass.

"You wanted originality, right? I'm pretty darn creative," Drake bragged, and started ripping Sam's sweater to pieces.

"Hey!"

Drake just continued ripping long strands of it despite Sam's outburst, planting a knee on his back to keep him there. "I'll show you originality," he mumbled.

Sam flinched. "Christ, I really like that one too…" he said, pouting slightly, attempting to not look nervous. He wasn't sure if it was a serious threat or not.

"How about bondage?" Drake whispered, starting to tie his hands together with his whip. Sam knew it was useless to struggle, allowing Drake to bend his arms behind his back. He noticed that the psycho stopped to gaze at him for a moment. He could end Sam's life right there and then, and Sam could do nothing against it, defenceless because he'd let Drake restrain him.

It was an odd sort of trust that kept them from killing each other.

Drake couldn't help himself. He let a trembling finger slide down Sam's naked back, feeling skin against his own, closing his eyes for a moment, sighing in mindless pleasure while mental images took over his mind. "It would be so easy," he began, in an almost chanting kind of tone, "So incredibly easy to just end it right here."

"But you won't, will you?"

"No," Drake admitted, a tad grim. Sam felt a small triumph, but fell silent with Drake's comeback. "And you won't kill me, either. Isn't that right, Sammy-boy?"

"No. Can't, no matter how hard I try."

There was a small silence.

"But one day, we'll do it," Sam said quietly, "for real, that time." No matter how tranquil and simple their twisted little relationship seemed sometimes, it would happen. No love, no matter how strong, no matter how non-existent, could stay forever in a world like theirs. "Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but some day… This… this _thing_ can't go on forever."

"We'll kill each other," Drake said, looking Sam straight in the eyes, a mad silvery twinkle being just as existent as the love was non-existent, "and it will be beautiful."

Sam paused, letting it sink in. Then he sighed, cracking one eye open. "Let me turn around."

"What?"

"I said; let me turn around."

"Why would I do such a thing?" Drake asked sourly, but still went through with it. What a stupid request. "Wanna see my face or something? Am I that fucking delicious, Temple?" Before Sam could give some nasty retort, Drake kissed him hard. When Sam stopped him, attaching his legs to Drake's back, he sneered and kissed even harder, and so occupying Sam by kissing elsewhere.

Using spit as lube, they soon began the usual.

Sex was something who was supposed to be a great thing between two people who loved each other.

In the Bible, sex was supposed to be the ingredient to mass production of new children, and only that. It was unspeakable, and sin, to feel anything other than duty when fucking your wife.

Both knew well that none of these points applied to themselves, because they did not love each other and they did not have the right organs for babies to grow either. Both committed that sin, again and again, each night.

His hands were now planted just under Drake's ear, feeling the softness there, the pace quickening. Sam bent backwards to let Drake toy with the hypersensitive skin on his throat with those soft lips of his, moaning. Now the lower parts of their bodies were rubbing against each other, the sadistic seme controlling the speed. He was getting even hornier than before, not caring that he could taste himself – Sam's simply _unique_ flavour overflowed in anyway.

Drake continued steadily, but in-between the thrusts Sam noticed a strained expression on Drake's face, one that implied that the sadist was in actual pain. His mouth formed Drake's name, and their gazes met, if not only for a moment, before the sadist had to look away again.

There wasn't as much ecstasy as usual. Why was uncertain for both of them, but it laid in the air, accompanied by the murky smell of sex.

"You're... hurt, ain't... cha?" Sam said in-between regular thrusts, wincing a bit when Drake hit a particularly painful angle. He wasn't certain, but it seemed like Drake was far too concerned about his own pleasure to notice Sam's small cries. Not that he usually became all gentler when Sam reminded him that he was no blow-up sex doll and registered pain, but he wouldn't be so... so utterly _careless_ such as now. He hadn't even removed his jeans, the bastard, merely let them fall to his ankles without a word before entering almost immediately.

Their unspoken oath of not hurting each other more than acceptable wasn't broken that often.

Now was one of those rare cases.

'"Ey."

_Pant._

"'S alright y-y'know."

_'Shut up.'_

"You said it yourself... _ngh_ **_there_**… I'm the only one allowed to... see you this way, so don't…"

_'Shut the fuck up, Sam.'_

"…don't-"

"SHUT UP!" Drake roared, rewarding Sam by almost shoving him through the fucking table, using his entire body weight to crush Sam under him. He lost his arousal. "I don't ask for you concern, you thoughts, your _anything_." He pressed his face against Sam. "You're a fool to think that, Sam. I don't care about you, or what you see. You're just a plaything that I use till I grow bored of ya."

It stung.

In any other situation, Sam would've gritted his teeth together and complied. Would've gone through with the act anyway. Would've looked away when Drake exited through the window, only to turn around again and see the curtains flying in the wind when he had left.

But today was a special day.

Sam punched him the jaw.

Drake's head swung to the side, but other than that, he didn't move an inch. Sam glared at him, hand still in the air.

"You hit me."

"Yup."

"You just fucking hit me."

"Sure did."

Pause.

"...Wow Sammy, didn't know you had it in ya," Drake said out of a sudden, turning creepier and creepier. The light flinched above their heads as if some sort of trick from Fate to make it appear like a horror movie scene. The shadows that came upon Drake's face made him appear more sinister than usual, and unbeknownst to Sam, it also made _him_ look evil, in a twisted cute sort of way.

"Fine."

Sam frowned, "Fine what?"

"Fine as in, I'll pretend for a bit." Drake leaned closer to Sam, making sure that his expression was unseen from the four-bar and lips as close to his ear as possible, which would make an illusion transforming mere whispers to a sexy, husky mysterious voice. How he got these ideas was beyond him - all Drake knew was that he was a genius, damn straight.

There's a _fine_ line between genius and crazy homicidal maniac (another term for insane).

And Drake was without a doubt on the latter, no matter how intelligent he felt.

Nevertheless… "Pretend to be your _boyfriend_," Drake sniggered when he saw what a reaction Sam received from hearing that very word, "and all that stuff."

Hinting obvious distaste, Sam's nostril started twitching like a bull's, "I never asked for anything like that. In fact," he raised an eyebrow at Drake, appearing superior, "I never asked for anythin' from you. Except our usual business, of course…"

"Don't be all arrogant. I've seen the way you look at me sometimes, with those burning eyes…" Drake wondered if ice could be on fire, because there were flames dancing in those pools of midnight-blue.

"Since when was hatred a fuel for sexual intercourse?"

"Since _us_." Drake worked his hips so that he steadily gained an arousal. Sam responded with a slight "Hnn" noise, the movements unexpected but not entirely uncomfortable. He spread his legs slightly, allowing Drake to go further.

"Take off your shirt."

Drake stopped for a moment, but complied for once, mumbling something about him being irresistible. Cocky bastard. It revealed bandages that were tied loosely around his entire upper body and a lot tighter around his human arm too.

Sneering, he kicked off his pants, continuing to warm up. Sam helped, rubbing himself against Drake.

Sam just realized something.

It didn't feel like Drake was pretending at all.

He was bemused over the transformation from hatred to taking a slight actual liking of what Drake was doing to him – the pleasure was one thing, however as a matter of fact looking _forward_ to the nightly visits? Harbouring such foolish feelings could be considering a sin in itself, waiting for vicious demons.

But Drake however, mistook his liking towards Sam as mere greed.

Greed. Was it truly that Drake felt towards what he considered his own property? He _owned_ the heroic little bastard, so to speech. Sam was _his_, and the sadist didn't want anyone else to claim the same.

Drake's strong tentacle slipped around Sam's lower body, squeezing it, feeling how his pulsating veins touched Sam's very alive body. "_Ngh_!" Sam threw his head backwards. Refusing to always play bottom, he punched Drake in the face, and when the sadist made a move to do something back, they kissed, firm and mindless.

That was an odd one.

Drake tasted like vulnerability. Sam wondered where he had it from.

When Sam's hand reached up to touch his bandage, fingers travelling upwards like a curious spider, he felt a slight flinch from the sadist's side. He gritted his teeth at another one of those directly violent thrusts, face twisting in an attempt to hold back any noise and lips soon parted without a sound.

Drake's hips started slowing down a bit, making sure the pauses in-between were filled with pants and the small "ah!" sounds, casually calling out to both the devil and god.

His fingers started caressing Sam's thigh, still fucking him quite slowly, not used to the closeness of their faces. It felt unnatural and to be so close - especially for the two of them. With any other human being, Drake would've had no issues fucking them this way and still looked upon them with nothing more than disgust, but Sam was special…

The hero and the villain.

Their relationship was forbidden - it wasn't supposed to be something more than hate.

Sam moaned.

It felt so _good_.

The thrill of the hunt - which didn't seem like a hunt at all, because there was no real hunt. It just an act to avoid suspicion. They were supposed to kill each other, after all.

In reality, the predator and the prey were playing all night long. It was hard to tell which one was who though - Drake had the fangs, the claws and the aggressive attitude, but Sam had the small smirks, the surprisingly dominant attitude and the primitive want for more and more and more.

Sam's lips managed to form "Fu…" before widening so far apart all that followed was some long surpassed gasp of awaited ecstasy. Usually Drake would've missed the small detail, but now that he had Sam almost sitting on his lap he could watch every sinful detail of Sam's enjoyment. The little things, like the small smirks, the drops of sweat, the flinching eyelids… It all was such a huge turn-on.

Drake grabbed Sam's hair so he could drag the four-bar's head up and force their faces closer. He soon had to grab onto something though, and bit down in Sam's shoulder to tune down the embarrassing sounds.

Soon he finished, trembling, releasing an atom bomb. It killed all life, and he could see how Sam came with him as if he'd waited patiently for this moment. It had taken longer time than usual. And for some reason, it felt better. He emptied himself completely, slowly pulling out.

"I'm gonna admit..." Sam mumbled, swaying a bit back and forth, "That was pretty good." Ignoring the feeling of his fuck-buddy's essence running down from his thighs seemed to be an impossible task, and he grimaced, wondering how he'd explain this to the council. He doubted they would recognise the smell of sex though.

"You weren't so bad yourself," Drake complimented, not aware that he was giving Sam positive feedback for once. His mind was too clouded with the aftermath of his release. He collapsed on top of Sam, wrapping his arms around the four-bar so that both of them fell at the floor. Drake took most of the fall though and didn't seem to care, just rolled on at the side. He hugged Sam tighter.

What the fuck.

"Merwin, what the-"

"Shut up and let us stay like this. You're warm."

He sighed, not knowing what to retort. But Drake was right - the night air that brushed in was quite cold on their bare bodies, although previous actions kept their hearts pumping fast. Their slick skin left them vulnerable to the cold, and when they were so close however, it felt a lot warmer.

Sam didn't know how long they lay there, and had no intention of finding out either.

When Drake stood up and started collecting his clothes like nothing had happened, Sam felt a pang of disappointment. He felt used… More used than after they'd fucked. At least then he could reason himself that he wanted it just as much as Drake. Sam started dressing too, not feeling like talking.

Drake felt the standard emptiness surge trough his body in a matter of seconds. Boredom. It was one of the most choking feelings he knew off (except helplessness perhaps) where lack of interest of everything surrounding him existed and he couldn't bring himself to do something other than stare lifelessly at the wall. Sam was sleeping. His reason to _be _was sleeping. Wait that sounded wrong. Drake didn't love Sam, he despised the heroic little goody-two-shoe. But he loved what Sam could do, what Sam gave him.

He thought Drake had left when he found him standing right behind him. Drake's tentacle then wrapped around Sam's hand, dragging it closer to study it. He fell silent for a moment, before looking up, looking rather stern, "Why did you do it?"

"Do what?" Sam said uncomfortably, trying to yank the hand away.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about Sammy." When he got a fake dumbfounded look, Drake sighed angrily and explained, "Bite off your fingernails? Why do ya do it?"

"Oh that..." Sam didn't manage to meet Drake's curious yet slightly disappointed eyes. "You noticed that?"

"'Course I do dumbass. I sleep with you each night. The tips of your fingers are all bloodied and bitten and I wanna know why."

"Why do you care?" Sam said harshly, tearing his hand away from Drake's grip, keeping his attention elsewhere than Drake.

Drake hadn't expected him to react with violence, and stared at him for a long time. Nor had he expected questioning. And why exactly did he need to know why? It was none of his business, if Sam killed himself.

"It's unhygienic."

Then Sam gave him a look that said 'That's the best disguise you can come up with?'. But he just sighed, stretching his legs and yawning. "See whatcha did?" he said, avoiding the topic, pointing at the unclean table.

Drake leaned in to kiss Sam. Just to see how it felt. If there were anything but greed in their fucked-up relationship.

Sam flinched visibly, but Drake's lips were so soft and pure against his own that he couldn't help but kiss back. It tasted of the innocence they both had given up long ago.

When they broke, he looked up at Drake.

"Are you still pretending?"

The question, which was a rather simple one, took Drake by grand surprise and the psychopath stepped backwards. "Whatcha playin' at?" he asked sharply as Sam stepped closer.

"I want an answer," Sam hissed, cornering the predator. His fist interacted with the wall, on each side of Drake's face. The sadist hadn't flinched, and he looked murderous.

"Now, _Drake_."

"Don't order me around!" Drake said, stepping towards Sam again so the auburn-haired boy's arms were in a straight line over his shoulders. They looked as if they were about to dance.

"I hate you," Sam said simply, breaking the illusion.

"I hate you too," Drake spat back, tearing himself from Sam's grip

"No," Sam said, staring at the window where Drake was leaving, "you don't."

This time, the villain had no answer.

And when he had left, the hero allowed himself one small sinister smile, eyes hidden by his hair, "So I'm not the only one in a difficult situation." He laughed then, a horrible little laugh that echoed in the wide room, bouncing off the walls. Perhaps he wasn't so much of a goody-two-shoes himself.

.

.

So a sand-blonde form slinked through the beautiful boy's white bedchamber.

This time was different.

You see, Drake hadn't forgotten about the whole conversation. In fact, it had been on his mind a whole lot, frustrated him and caused him to do stupid things. At least he'd avoided Caine. Visiting him again was a very, very bad idea, and if he happened to say something because of his incredibly short temper (and sexual frustration, probably) there wasn't a single doubt in his mind that he wouldn't live to see another day.

Poor Sam, Drake would make his life a Hell on earth.

Also a Heaven, but that wasn't noted.

So he stood over the sleeping form, watching him silently. The boy looked so peaceful, with a tranquillity Drake could only dream of. So Sam had gotten a few more days sleep now, who gave a crap? How dared the bastard to sleep well when Drake didn't, anyway? It was unfair-

Fuck he sounded like a kid.

Taking some of his anger and secret embarrassment out on Sam, he stepped on him, kicking him out bed.

"What-"

_Thud. _

"Merwin," Sam said groggily, rubbing his poor, hurt butt, "You bitch."

_'That's for being so disgustingly cute,'_ Drake thought, eyebrows knitted together. He refrained from giving the 'compliment' though, just sat there in the bed, staring down at Sam's pathetic form.

"I wondered when you'd return."

"How do you know I am?"

Sam crawled into the bed again, grabbing Drake's foot so he wouldn't kick him out again. His fingernails scraped the underside of Drake's foot, but he got no reaction. Huh. So the psychopath wasn't ticklish. Good to know, in case they had to fight and Sam's ultimate technique would be to tickle him to death. Logic wasn't his strongers point.

Pretending not to notice Drake's 'are-you-fucking-stupid?'-look, he said, "Well you're here now, aren't you? The sleep was good while it lasted anyway."

Drake sighed gruffly.

"Are you high or something?"

Sam frowned. "No. Do I seem that way to you?"

"You're just so… so darm _happy_." _'I'd thought you be begging for me to return by now.' _"It's disgusting."

"So not being depressed all the time is bad for you? Well sorry then, can't do shit about it. It's only been seven days, Merwin. I can handle myself without you." Sam gave an arrogant snort. "And I'm not in the mood. So g'way."

Go away?

_Go away?_

In a matter of seconds, Drake held Sam by the throat. The tinier body was trapped underneath his own, being smashed into the bed.

"You little fuck," Drake began, almost not managing to talk because of his immense anger. "You little… _imbecile_…"

"C-C-Can't b-breathe…" Sam stuttered, turning purple. Drake didn't care. He just held him there, choking him to death, watching how his pupils vanished up under his eyelids and how his fighting stopped and how-

Then he suddenly remembered who he was choking to death and threw himself backwards, crawling away from the coughing individual. Sam panted, taking the biggest breathes of his life, having never loved air so much as now. He rolled over, supporting himself on his arms, unable to look at the one who could have killed him just now.

Drake felt the same way, grey orbs sometimes darting over to Sam to see if he was still alive.

"I didn't mean it," he said quietly.

"That doesn't change a thing," Sam replied after a pause, lungs still begging for enough oxygen. Drake wanted to shout a retort and tear his face open, but couldn't bring himself to do anything else than look away again. "_Murderer._"

In any other situation, it wouldn't have bothered him to be called such a thing.

"Shut up."

"What, would you expect... it of me?" Sam whispered in-between coughs.

Indirectly, he got an answer. "You're supposed to scared of me! But you're not!" Drake pointed a trembling and accusing finger at Sam, who was unable to produce a better response than a few more coughs. Drake covered his face in his human hand, looking downright miserable, still shaking, "Why don't you hate me?"

"I do!" Sam said in-between coughs.

"No you don't!" Drake screamed. He grabbed Sam's arm, forcing the struggling four-bar closer. "You don't," he whispered, "You just _don't_." Please. "You don't." Please don't hate me. "DON'T!" he screaming again, looking insane. Then the two of them kissed, harshly and with so much feeling it completely overwhelmed Sam.

There was no love. And what was love anyway? Chemicals and hormones, fired up like some foul concoction to create a farcical feeling. Did Drake love Sam? Hell, no. He didn't want to, at least. But then, contradicting that, he didn't... dislike him. Not the way he despised Caine, or loathed Diana. He didn't treasure Sam - but it was entirely possible that the monster had grown fond of Sam. He felt some form of affection, no matter how weak.

This scared him to not end.

"No," Sam said out of a sudden.

But it felt nice to know that Sam wasn't completely hateful, also.

Then Drake noticed the bulge between Sam's legs, and smirked. It was a trembling smirk, but still a smirk.

"I know what you want, S-Sammy-boy."

Sam said nothing. Didn't need to.

"I know _exactly_ what you want."

Fingers vanishing into Sam's pans, his façade soon crumbled, Sam stretching out to enjoy it even more. "Yeah," he finally gave in, much to Drake's pleasure, "Yeah, keep goin'…" Drake continued pumping him, again drinking in all the details, greedy for more, never even blinking. Sam felt a bit uncomfortable being 'helped' like this, considering he was the only one naked and this guy had just tried strangling him to death.

He found out it didn't matter in the long run. Not _really_ anyway.

And Drake seemed to have gotten over his angst moment and was now looking as smug as ever while jerking his sexual partner off.

Then it knocked on the door.

"Sam? Are you in there? I heard screaming and..."

Oh god.

Sam was no killer but oh fucking god did that bitch need to die.

Right now.

Right here.

He was about two millimetres on the anger scale from asking Drake to go _end_ her in the most horrific way possible. Although the thought may have appealed to him in the past in one of his darkest lesser gay moments, but he did not want her to watch him masturbating, nor for her to spot him with a raging boner. God forbid. ...Heh, god. The irony.

"Can I come in?"

Fuck no.

He decided to be more civil when speaking for real though, "Um, eh, NO..." searching his brain for saving lines, he could only think of one. "I'M NAKED." Curse cliché American humour and romance movies! Wasn't his fault he had to live with a single mom who wasn't particularly fond of anything else than that genre.

"Is that the best you can come up with?" Drake whispered and gave him a deadpanned look, standing up and crossing his arms for added effect. Making fun of Sam's IQ was just too much fun!

Sam answered by jumping out and stealing Drake's shirt - which the psycho wasn't particularly happy about - and then pointing like a hysteric four-year-old at under the bed. Drake, just to be a bitch, had no desire to hide under there again, so he intentionally mistook Sam's fanatic pointing and dived underneath the covers instead. Sam looked like he'd explode, about to drag Drake out again when he heard Astrid growing impatient.

"Are you readied?"

"Yes!" he shouted, and dived underneath the covers as well, landing on top of Drake. He didn't know what was worse; a horny sadist near his groin, or Astrid being in the room when he was both aroused and boxerless.

She opened the door immediately, suspicious. She was wearing her purple grandma nightgown. He might've found that hot in another universe, but couldn't help but note that she was getting thinner. She had no muscles such as Drake, and it made her appear both weak and a bit pathetic.

Sam almost hit himself after thinking that. How dared he? One of the main reasons for her thinness was probably her worry for the fall of others, not herself.

"We need to talk," she said, sitting down on his bed. Sam breathed out when he noticed that she hadn't seated _on_ Drake. That wouldn't have been pretty.

"About what?"

Drake was growing hot and bored under there. He looked around to see if he found something interesting and voila! He was awfully close to Sam's crotch after all... Experimenting a little, he let his tongue run up the hypersensitive flesh on Sam's thigh, waiting for a reaction. And a reaction he got.

All Sam could make to prevent himself from jumping fifty meters into the air and disappearing into outer space was a long, shameful "Hmnghnghmmmghnnnh..." that lasted about seven seconds. Astrid looked at him as if he'd gone mad.

"Sam... Are you alright?"

_'Not with this freaking sadist licking me underneath the covers.' _"Yes I'm fine," he said with a forced smile.

"And what was that screaming and the loud bang I heard a couple of minutes ago?"

Sam didn't even lie about this, because it had happened before. This was the reason she didn't seem to shocked. "I had a nightmare," he said quietly.

She nodded like she knew. "With everything going on lately, it's not suprising. I'm here for you though, if you need to talk..." In an attempt to be comforting, she laid a hand on his shoulder. It felt so gentle and _fragile_ in comparison to Drake's strong grip.

"Thanks," Sam said uncomfortably, but genuinely thankful although he could never use what she offered. Drake heard the tone in his voice and felt envious, so he started licking Sam a little more. His tongue moved in sloppy circles, moving slightly higher. The hero shivered, but upon noticing Astrid's concerned stare, he lied again, "I'm just cold." He tried to lighten up a bit.

He cracked one midnight-blue eye open, hand running through his hair to calm himself. "What did you want to talk about, anyway? I'm a little tired so if you don't mind, please hu-"

"Ah yes." Going back on teenage-genius-mode, Astrid tucked some strands of blonde behind her ear. "It's council matters, but I thought you were able to help." Wasn't he a part of is? Or was he just an option she came to when no one else were available? The hurt he'd felt some days ago returned in full strength.

"Drake Merwin has been spotted in town."

Being mentioned surprised Drake, and his jaw locked in confrontation, teeth biting down on Sam. Luckily Sam just jumped, pretending that the pain came from the memories. "Oh god, not him... I really hoped he were dead..." He kicked Drake underneath the covers. "And I don't think he's stupid enough to come down here anyway, not after stealing the food..."

"Shush. Don't say so," Astrid said, although she looked like she agreed with him. "So you haven't seen anything remotely suspicious."

"Nope. But you know, kids these days, anything to get attention..."

Astrid shifted her weight. "That's not the tone to take," she said, sounding annoyed. What - she was defending Drake now? That made the sadist want to laugh. "Drake is not something to be mocked, Sam! You should no better than anyone."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam muttered. It wasn't like he didn't mock Drake during sex. The insults they threw at each other would have made Astrid shove a bible down his throat to 'chase out the demons'.

(Or chase **the** **demon** out of the house. But that's impossible. They never quite can get enough of each other.)

"But I don't think he's here anyway."

Her forehead ceased up. "You're acting differently... I'm here though Sam. If you need me."

"I'm just bothered by nightmares, that's all. And it is kinda late..."

Astrid nodded, but didn't seem less suspicious. Then she lightened up. "Oh! I just remembered! Are you finished with the report? I've given you quite many days now Sam, but I'm sure you've worked very hard on it! So give your splendid ideas to me now, Sam!" Why did she insist on saying his name so much?

"Eheheh, well you see…" he laughed nervously, trailing off. "I really haven't… I really haven't gotten time to do it."

It was as if God had just told Astrid Ellison that she wasn't worthy of going to Heaven. She was as frozen, her smile becoming forced and glorious expression fading quickly, "…What?"

"I said I haven't had enough time to do it," Sam said, madly quickly. Underneath the covers, Drake was too busy stifling his own sniggers to make Sam's situation even more possible, if such was possible.

"What have you done that's so incredibly busy that you had to push aside the poor townies' soon-to-be starvation?" she raged.

"Um… Stuff…"

"So you're telling the council," and by that she meant herself, "that you've done absolutely nothing with the report? You have no ideas to help our poor children? Astrid said, as if she was Mother Nature or something. "'Cos you've had… _stuff_… to do?" She muttered 'stuff' as if it was the devil's name.

"Eheh, sure did," Sam said, rubbing the back of his head, laughing nervously.

"That's it," Astrid said furiously, holding a finger of doom out to show him how sorry he'd be when she was finished, "I'm hereby punishing you with house arrest! Sam Temple, from now on you are grounded and not allowed to leave _our _house! You will have no visitors, not even **me**!"

Maybe she thought this would strengthen their bond and increase his want to be with her when he understood what a great loss he was at when she weren't around!

Little did she know that this was a perfect opportunity for Drake to just… steal him away.

…Counting on Drake would ever get out of these damn annoying covers, of course.

.

.

**A/N: **If you think Astrid is too bitchy let's just pretend she has PMS. Was originally going to have Sam be the one begging for Drake's full attention, but hell, where's the fun in that cliché plot? So I made Drake the one with the uke 'doesn't-he-love-me?' issues for once ~ And there's still no lovey dovey. _Never_.


	4. Acedia

**Disclaimer: **You're a reading a fucking smut fic and asking if I own Gone™… ._.

**A/N:** This contains fluff. And Sam tops. But about the former, it's just me trying to build up Drake and Sam's relationship to a bit more. It will be all the more horrible to watch them fall, you see.

This chapter is told in a bunch of segments.

Thank you **DreamCatcher96 **for her super fast beta'ing!

.

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**Onyx: IV**

_"Let's forget all about responsibility, sides, and those stupid townies. Let's stay here for a week."_

**Acedia** (discouragement/sloth)

Habitual disinclination to exertion; indolence; laziness

.

.

_"Dig up something dynamical._

_Hurry up it's getting late!_

_She was full of the potential_

_That he was bent to excavate"_

"Hollow You Out"; The Gandharvas

.

.

Astrid had left.

Eventually.

Drake was buttoning up his creamy shirt, the light colour contrasting the grim atmosphere in the room. His sand-blonde hair hung in bangs onto his expressionless face, the only hint of emotion being the standard scowl, as per usual. He was unaware that Sam was sitting in a cross-legged position, arms planted in front of him.

"Have they found out?" he asked suddenly, causing Drake to freeze.

He turned around slowly, scowl deepening. "What?"

"The people at Coates you consort yourself with."

Drake felt rage stir within him, begging to be unleashed – a wish he rarely declined – but instead he suppressed it because he wasn't in the mood for a fight, and he knew Sam didn't speak much to him after sex without reason (they were fuck-buddies and shared no friendship, the little bitch was smart enough to know that). When he first asked something it was for a damn good reason, with an exception of when they were throwing insults at each other, that is. So perhaps this once.

Just like with the pretending.

"No," Drake grunted, "My business is my business and no one else has the right to stick their nose in it."

"Not even to my twin-brother?" Sam had brought his naked knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. His whole face was shadowed over because of lack of daylight, and he also looked far more sinister when using that blasé tone of his. Maybe Drake was only imagining it, or maybe some of his madness had grown on Sam.

That brought a tad of redness to Drake's usually so pale face. "_Especially_ not your brother. Soren can go shit himself with curiosity, but he ain't getting anything outa' me," the sand-blond answered, words poison-drenched when speaking of the megalomaniac.

Though it would be a lie to say that the thought hadn't occurred to him, because Drake had no real idea what he would do if Caine or Diana found out about his nightly visits to Perdido Beach. He was incredibly careful, and even the dumbest Coates kids knew to stay away without their precious king around.

"I see," Sam nodded, still staring.

Irritation crept up on his foe's face, "Whatcha looking at?"

Sam paused, before shaking his head. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"Then stop fucking staring at me, it's creeping me out."

Doing as commanded, Sam slipped underneath the covers and shut up. He was surprised as Drake dragged him up by his hair, kissing him harshly.

"Goodbye," he said, before vanishing out the window again.

And Sam smiled, feeling a bit warm inside despite the cold air.

He was like a naïve child, sometimes. Believing in happy endings. In another time, another not-quite so horrid universe, would their macabre relationship have stood a chance? Sam liked to believe so.

Yet he couldn't understand his own fragile hope, a disorientated want of a path to another kingdom, another planet far away where the two of them could have fucked without anyone raising an eyebrow. But although he would never admit it, he knew he wished for them to do more than just screw.

.

.

The night after that Sam hadn't left the house all day because of the house arrest and was madly bored. He paced back and forth in his room with this unsatisfied restlessness deep in his heart.

Astrid had moved over to some preFAYZ friends after giving him a small speech about right and wrong, leaving him alone in the big house. Sam didn't really have anything against it, but it was all so dreadfully _boring. _For the first time in ages, Sam's mind wasn't plagued by guilt over things that he should've done but never felt he did properly enough, but it was plagued by something else entirely.

And Sam thought Drake was the horniest one in their partnership.

So it was a pleasant enough when the son of a bitch crawled through the window that night, looking a bit tired.

For once, Sam was the one shoving him into a wall and ravishing him like some mad creature.

"You sure are eager," Drake mumbled. But the monster now above him didn't comment on it, just smirked and continued without a word. Having Drake pressed into a corner, he started tearing on his silky shirt, feeling the comfortable material tear beneath his fanatic touches, releasing a few grunts from Drake's part.

For once, Sam was the one undressing them.

They made their way over to the bed, Drake still underneath, more and more clothes falling off for each quick step. Sam's mouth travelled over his lower body, kissing him again and again and again, though stopping to caress the hard and muscled stomach. "Suck me off," Drake demanded, and Sam went even lower. His tentacle snapped in the air as soon as Sam began working his magic, teeth scraping the tip of his leaking arousal. Sam then drew back, turning Drake around.

For once, Sam was on top.

This made a devilish glint appear in his eyes.

"Don't look all cocky. It doesn't change anything," the psychopath said, shrugging, although his hand reached for his member. But Sam couldn't hold back his grin - Drake was letting him on top! - and prepared him properly before entering, a more kind spirit than Drake. _Barely_.

Drake's breath hitched a bit, releasing a small "A-Ah~", but nothing more.

Their session was like a rock concert.

It was packed with ecstatic emotions, high tones and hard body movements.

Drake would sometimes throw his head backwards or bite into the pillow to stifle a moan, often locking gazes with Sam while doing so. And boy did he love it - he'd get this smirk on his face that was pure no-good, a smirk he had learned by Drake himself.

They kept on moving in that new semi-slow method of theirs, till both of them cried out and till the sheets became wet from general dirtiness.

Unlike Sam, Drake had no issues standing up afterwards, despite not being as used to the hurt in his... behind. He stretched, watching how Sam's chest rose and fell, his pants turning into soft breaths, focusing on Drake rather than his own breath. Drake smirked, "You did alright. For your first time, of course."

"A-Alright?"

"Yup. I'd give it a... D."

"...What?"

"Or, a D minus, I think."

"Oh holy hell... You're grading me for my performance... in bed?" He'd never looked more deadpanned, but couldn't help but ask, "What the hell did I do wrong?"

"Well... for starters, you started it off too rough and didn't pay enough attention to adjusting properly, and one can never use enough lube, remember that. You also were downright terrible at the pacing. Also, I can handle myself nicely, thanks. I'm not some big pussy like you, so don't think about pleasuring me all the time when your thoughts are obviously centred around yourself."

Had he really been that bad? _'Shit_._' _Sam moped, head hung low. But Drake just laughed, patting his head.

"Don't be too hard on yerself'. Not everyone's perfect, like me. Follow my tips and maybe one day you won't suck as much. Can't guarantee anything though."

That didn't cheer him up either. Sam, naïve as always, wasn't aware how easily Drake manipulated him, even if Sam was the one doing the actual screwing. Drake was good when it came to from topping from the bottom.

"Oi." Drake poked him. "Stop mopin'. It isn't particularly sexy, even if your blowjob lips forming into a pout is kinda cute. Still, a huge turn-off." Sam just looked even more down. He felt even worse than he'd done the first times the two of them had sex. "Ah heck, stop it." Drake smacked him gently on the head, "I'll teach ya how to get better eventually, alright?"

Sam didn't answer.

It was as if something dark and evil escaped from his body, a purple and black mass crawling up towards the walls to the ceiling all around Sam. His auburn hair hid his eyes, but somehow Drake knew they were filled with dread and sadness.

Ah.

Drake just got it.

Sam was giving him the silent treatment.

It was as if a dark hurricane of everything cold out there surrounded Sam and threw ice cubes at Drake.

"Tch. And here I was gonna ask ya of something special..." Drake smirked as he saw how bad Sam was at hiding his curiosity, repeatedly glancing in his direction while at the same time trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. He failed miserably. "Sure you don't wanna know the big secret?" Drake breathed into his ear, making Sam shiver. No matter how their relationship changed, Sam would never get used to it, he was certain. It didn't seem to bother Drake though.

"Fine then," Sam growled, "What is it?"

Drake drew him closer, "Quid pro quo Sammy-boy. You tell me something I tell you something." Sam doubted Drake knew Latin, even if he frowned for a moment, before deciding he'd probably seen the Silence of the Lambs, even if Caine was more of a Hannibal type. "So _please_ enlighten me - how long is your house arrest?"

"One week."

"Excellent."

"Why? 'Cos you'll have a better chance to f-"

"Both yes and no," Drake interrupted, standing up, dressing again. He grit his teeth as pain shot up from his ass but was determined to not let it show. Damn Temple. Still, he went over to the wardrobe, beginning to drag out the cheap clothes.

"What are you doing?" Sam exclaimed, jumping out of bed and storming over to Drake. When he tried to yank Drake away, all he got in return was being forced to the floor, taken by surprise. He looked even more surprised when Drake placed a foot on top of him, actually having expected the violent part of their relationship to be over, even if the sex was pretty rough.

"We're going on a little trip, y'see."

"Trip?" Sam had that look of utter disbelief. "If you have suddenly developed amnesia, let me remind you - we're in the FAYZ."

"I know that," Drake growled, already in the process of throwing some shit in a bag. "But by the look of you panting above me just now," was there bitterness mixed in there? "...told me that you're more than just interested in doing something _productive_ this week. Y'know what I mean? 'Course, I'm sick of going back and forth to this house when I could simply... steal you away."

Sam froze.

"Yeah that's right Sammy." Drake bent down, kissing his fingers, "I'm kidnapping you to Coates."

This made the whole atmosphere around Sam turn wary and cold, the temperature dropping by a few degrees. "I can't allow you to do that, Merwin. Sexual partners or not, we're not friends, nor allies. In fact, we're battling on different sides, and just because of this... this _thing_, I won't go without a fight."

He'd expected Drake to object.

He'd expected Drake to scream and shout and whip him in anger.

He'd expected Drake to _fight_.

Instead he smirked. _Smirked_. What a goddamn bastard.

"Idiot Temple," he whispered, stepping closer and licking his lips, "This ain't for the Coates gang, or for Soren, or for anyone else than _me_. I want you on Coates because it's so _boring _there Sam, all I do is walk around all day. I've told you that people don't dare come near me. I want you there 'cos I desire your presence, and it would be easier than coming down here all the time. This house arrest of yours is a pe_r_fect opportunity."

"So what you're hinting at is that..."

"...you'll come with me to Coates," Drake finished for him.

"I... I don't know what to say..." Sam trailed of, looking more uncertain than Drake had ever seen him. If it had been a few weeks ago, Drake would've never suggested this, knowing what the outcome would've been.

But he knew Sam had warmed up to him in the passing of the last days, and this meant that he had a greater chance of agreeing, this time at least.

"Alright."

There it was. The perfect answer for the perfect opportunity.

Drake smirked.

He bowed and held out a hand, smirk widening. "Then will the butterfly join me to the snake's lair?"

"I'm not fucking butterfly," Sam said, ignoring the hand and wrapping one leg around Drake's, guiding their bodies together. Drake trapped his head between his own and his shoulder, pressing down, making their cheek against cheek position painful.

"Prove it to me," Drake challenged in a whisper.

.

.

So it the ultimate secret weapon was a motorbike.

Sam shrugged. It would've been a little funny if Drake had ridden a bicycle up and down from Coates every night, but whatever. At least he didn't jog up and down, or walk with trekking poles. That would've been something.

Drake had been very careful when it came to hiding it, making the two of them walk quite a distance (hidden in shadows of trees and houses, of course - Drake knew the exact path) before finding the red wonder underneath some leaves. Drake pushed it up, easily dragging it out on the road. He made sure there was no one around, however. Not that anyone normal in the head would wander around at night time in the forest where mutated animals may roam.

This didn't make Sam think that he was walking around there at night. Hadn't realized that he was becoming sicker and sicker for each moment he spent with the psychopath.

"Ready," Drake said gruffly, gesturing to Sam to get on. This made the hero tense a bit, but he did get on, not used to the rough material of the backseat. Drake started the motorcycle, not caring about Sam's uneasiness and setting at full power at once.

He couldn't help but smirk when he felt Sam's arms wrap around him to keep on, head buried in the back of his jacket.

It went fast, and Sam had no wish of falling off. After a while, his grip didn't become any gentler, but he did manage to relax a bit and felt all sorts of smells tease him. It smelled like forest and warmth and leather and motor oil.

He pressed his nose further into Drake, breathing it in, almost tasting the gunpowder kisses they so often shared in their secret moments at Sam's room. He daydreamed, falling into some sort of other world.

Drake had to shake a bit on his shoulders for Sam to register that they were stopping. They had yet to see Coates, and he didn't need to explain why. It was obvious that the sadist had no wish anyone else to find out about their relationship. For some reason, this made Sam feel strangely empty inside.

Did it matter if Drake was embarrassed of him or not?

No, of course not.

_'Bastard.'_

Sam didn't think about how Drake being embarrassed meant that he cared.

Noting the sudden change in Sam's expression, Drake slowed down completely, stepping off the motorbike. But before Sam could go off, he grabbed his hand, dragging him closer. "Stick to me," he whispered, "And no one will notice ya, I promise."

"I don't trust you," Sam barked.

Drake frowned, not having expected such an angry reply. Obviously Sam knew that the situation had slipped away from his reach, making him have no control there. "Then why did you come here?" he asked finally.

Sam swallowed and looked away.

"Stick to me and keep close, then nobody will see shit, alright?" Drake repeated, perhaps gentler this time, if Sam's mind wasn't playing tricks on him. But he did as told, preferring to stay silent, thinking how much of a bad idea this was.

_'Bastard tricked me into coming here.'_

That was a lie.

When they reached the Coates school parking lot, Drake dragged him through a walked path through overgrown gardens. He gestured to a high window, and he thought Sam didn't understand since he did nothing, Drake took hold of his hand and led him towards the window.

...Led him towards the snake's lair.

When having climbed up a ladder Drake had hidden in some bushes, Sam finally took some time looking around in the small room.

"Is this yours?"

"No, we're in Soren's," Drake said sarcastically. "Of course we're in my bedroom, dimwit."

Sam ignored him and went to investigate, just to get his mind over at something else. It consisted of a king-size bed with black silk sheets, an old writing desk - which probably cost more than all of Sam's furniture, a few chests here and there (Sam had no wish to know what was inside, there was always a chance of Drake hiding a couple of dead bodies in there) and a room that led to a bathroom. Clothes lay here and there, along with some cartoons and some scattered around ammunition. It was a bit of a mess, but not a complete chaos.

Just like Drake's appearance.

But it was big, like any super expensive boarding school room. His mom had gotten paid pretty well for just being a night shift nurse; that was one of the reasons why they'd moved to Perdido Beach. All the fond memories he'd experienced there had been buried underneath the ashes of his dead comrades. It didn't occur to him that he was creating new good ones on _Coates_, of all places, with his number one enemy.

"Don't touch the stuff you can't afford. Of course, if ya ruin something, there are other things you can to do pay me back..."

He continued like he hadn't heard it. Sam nodded in acknowledgement when he noticed that the door was locked with two heavy chains. He let go of the small bag where all the clothes he'd brought were, and stood in the middle of the room, awkwardly.

Drake for once, decided to not be a jerk and say something remotely normal. Probably wasn't intentional.

"Like my place?"

"It's nice," Sam said simply.

Drake jumped up on the bed, moving so that there was space for Sam too. He stretched out, yawning, cracking one eye open to look at Sam. The four-bar followed, a little hesitant, but awkwardly crawled into his foe's bed. Out of a sudden, he wondered if Drake had experienced what he was going through too.

The uneasiness that came because of the lack of control Sam felt deep in his stomach - it wasn't because of Drake's status as the most dominant in their hellish affair. Sam wondered if he'd felt weirded out by visiting his number one enemy. Drake had walked alone, back and forth, and felt the feeling of being hunted, every night. But he'd hadn't neither stopped nor complained, not one bit.

So acting so moody wasn't really changing anything.

Now it was Sam's turn.

"You'll get used to it," Drake said suddenly.

Aha. So Sam's assumptions had been correct.

It was only fair that he allowed Drake to pull him a bit closer, kissing his throat like a vampire. Even after bringing him some comfort, he wasn't particularly gentle. He actually half-expected Drake to deepen the session, when to his surprise, Drake yawned and stretched, _again_. Obviously he was tired.

(And sitting on the motorcycle hadn't made his hurt behind any better after Sam's topping, but it was not like he was ever going to mention that to Sam no matter how close they got. Some things were just too personal).

"Undress, or whatever. We'll talk tomorrow. There's food and water in that brownish chest. Night."

Sam blinked a few times, before kicking of his pants and the rest, slipping underneath the covers together with Drake. The bed was a lot bigger, but didn't stop him from coming closer to the warm body beside him.

Drake didn't seem to mind.

.

.

_"They say we can love who we trust_

_But what is love without lust?_

_Two hearts with accurate devotions_

_And what are feelings without emotions?"_

"In For The Kill"; La Roux

.

.

Sam almost surprised himself that morning; thinking it would be his usual room with the usual white roof, but finding himself in a high-class bedroom with golden and black colours.

How the hell had he ended up here?

Oh. He remembered when he looked over at his side, finding Drake staring down at him, chewing on his lip.

"Your morning face is kinda child-like, as in, ya look like a kid."

"Fuck you," Sam mumbled groggily, wiping sleep from his eyes.

"No but seriously, you look like you're five," Drake insisted, poking him on the nose. "Red cheeks, all sleepy, the expression... Hey, tell me when you magically develop a double chin and start sucking on your thumb."

Had Drake just thought up that insult or had he lay in several hours thinking about it? Sam liked to think it was the latter.

He chose not to answer however, just made a tch-sound. He felt a little better than he'd done the day before, but he was still anxious. He took a shaky breath and tried to hide it, sighing, and had his arms behind his head in a semi-calm manner.

Drake made circles on Sam's chest, trailing his fingers around in almost rhythmic motions, "I think I know why ya bite yer nails."

"It isn't on purpose..."

"Exactly. Ya do it in your sleep."

Sam shifted a bit, and the covers slipped a little further. Drake noticed, and the tentacle started trailing downwards, starting to wrap around a half-hard part of Sam. Morning wood. _'Heh.'_ So the boy wasn't a complete child after all.

"You screamed," Drake noted. "It was loud, but you bit into the pillow, quieting yourself. Still, I saw how your lips stretched so wide apart those small wounds on the corners of your mouth reopened. I thought they were my doings, 'cos I always wondered why ya always tasted like fresh blood."

"It's just nightmares…" Sam trailed off, biting his bottom lip.

"It ain't just nightmares when you hurt yourself," Drake hissed. Dr. Wikse's (his old psychologist) words still lingered in his head. "Someone told me about it once. He said that every human being," he ran his fingers through Sam's hair in an odd master-and-pet kind of way, "needs to be in full control at _something_. That they need at least one thing where they're completely confident in their ability. I think ya lack that, here."

Sam felt his face heat up and he looked away sharply, standing up on his knees, almost challenging Drake to call him a pussy. "Don't talk about thing you don't understand, Merwin." He didn't remove the tentacle that lurked around his thigh though.

Their sex had been fuelled on hatred for so long that wild arguing didn't reduce lust.

Waiting for a couple of moments till Sam had calmed down again, he continued, "I ain't mocking ya, just stating a fact. Like I've hinted before, you lack control here, at Coates. Yer only here because - of some reason I can't understand - you trust me, if not just a little bit." He crawled on top of Sam, looking up at him, much like a slave. A slave to evil-doings and mind-twisting. "Ya need some sort control, Temple. And I'm 'bout to give it to ya."

"What? You're letting me on top again, even if I suck so much?" Sam asked, sarcastic.

Laughing, Drake patted his head. "Of course not, idiot." Sam tore the hand away, and Drake didn't comment on it, but decided to be a little more serious. "Listen, every time you feel lack of control, you kiss me, alright?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. Tryingly, he twisted and turned so that he was underneath Drake (in a failed attempt to get on top, but whatever, he could work it from here) and kissed him.

Drake smirked against the kiss but didn't deepen it, instead focused on allowing Sam a release. He had to break the kiss, moaning, trembling. He felt a familiar warmth increase in the depth of his stomach and travelling even further down, making his moans even louder.

"I'm gonna do terrible things to you these next few days... And you're gonna love it..." Drake whispered in his ear.

He came with a small cry, the tentacle's rhythmic motions of jerking him off. He made sure to be even rougher than usual, making Sam scream as he spilled himself, but silencing him with his tentacle (which he so kindly wrapped around Sam's lower head until he quieted down).

"Y-You're awful," Sam stammered in-between pants.

"We're the same," Drake said and kissed his forehead. The gentle gesture made Sam feel... calm (against his will) and he fell towards Drake. After a while, Drake moved towards one of the chests, clicking it open and getting some food. He handed some to Sam, but the four-bar could only stare.

"This is the things you stole, yeah?"

"Pretty much," Drake said, shrugging.

"...I can't eat this."

"Why not?" Drake asked with mouth already full of food. He frowned. Sam lay on his stomach out on the massive bed, looking more depressed than usual.

"People are starving in Perdido Beach, Merwin, because of you." He held up the can up in the air, watching how the fake sun outside made it twinkle silvery, "I'd feel guilty." He laid his head upon Drake's knee, sighing.

"So you're starving yourself 'cos of it? That's just stupid Temple. 'Sides, you didn't come as - what did the stupid townies call ya? - Bus-Sam or four-bar Sam, you came here as Sammy-boy, my b..." his teeth met with a _crack!_, obviously aware that he'd gone too far but also aware that it was too late to take it back.

"Boyfriend?"

Sam couldn't help but look hopeful.

"_Boyfriend_, sexual partner, whatever. The point is, you're not here to fight. You're here to spend time with me, to be a lazy ass bitch and fuck around. Got it?" Drake asked, taking hold of his chin and gently forcing his head up. Drake held up something delicious-looking candy with the tentacle.

They'd had candy without telling him? Sam licked his lips, unable to resist, feeling only greed. He deserved it, didn't he?

So he nodded and ate the chocolate out of Drake's fingers. Surprisingly, it didn't feel too bad. The tentacle lurked around on his back, giving an odd sense of comfort. It felt as if it had a mind of it own, and it didn't scare Sam at all, for some reason.

Drake smirked and waited until he was finished.

The 'kindness' didn't stop Sam from wanting to mock Drake a little more. Anything to change the subject and to get back on Drake for making Sam do bad things without feeling guilt.

"Hah, you were a virgin before I did you last night, weren't you? An assvirgin, I mean."

_'Touché.'_

Sneering, Drake reached out to punch him in the fucking face. But Sam saw it coming and caught Drake's hand in mid-air, and even if he easily tore himself out of Sam's grip, it still caused a tense moment between the two of them.

Then Drake threw himself of top of Sam, angry and frustrated. Sam responded with the exact same feelings, confused and angry because he had no idea how to cope with everything. It didn't take long before their lack of clothes became very obvious, and all the negative emotions turning into vile lust.

Drake grit his teeth together, beyond the point where he cared about how Sam was doing, pumping into him like ragnarok would come tomorrow. He did notice that the pace became too much though, because as his fingernails - claws - dug even further within Sam's lower thigh, tears threatened to spring from Sam's eyes. Yet he stayed tough, shaking bad but still failing to give in.

The psychopath slammed his hips against Sam's in another failed attempt on making Sam wholly submissive.

He dominated for a moment, being the one who pressed Drake towards him. His fingers tore on Drake's sand-blond hair, threatening to yank his scalp clean off.

It hurt like a bitch, and Drake hissed in anger, trying to make him loosen his grip to no avail.

Eyes met for a brief second. It was a rare happening since both loathed to look each other in the eyes, almost frightened that they would find an unwanted emotion.

Midnight-blue eyes was like liquid, an entire ocean where waves crusaded against the shores. Mercuric eyes were like two pools of the finest melted silver, shiny and twinkling,

Pain and pain and pain and pain.

Although it was what their relationship was built on, it felt like a long time since their session had been this painful.

"Drake," Sam whispered.

This made Drake tense a bit, but he still continued to thrust harshly into Sam, having missed those small yelps and whimpers of sweet, pleasurable pain. "Shut up. I hate you."

"Drake!" Sam forced out, sounding even more agonized this time.

"_What_?"

And then they kissed, Drake's lips melting into Sam's, and it was if an angel's hand grabbed hold of his wrist and dragged him up from a tar pit of sadism and hatred.

It left him emptied, exhausted, and just as frustrated as he'd been when they first started indulging in this, but a different sort of frustration. Sam's - the blood-stained angel - grip tightened on Drake's arms, all while Drake still shoved himself inside him.

It hurt, Drake could tell, because a single tear had managed to escape and ran down his cheek. That was enough - he knew Sam hated to show weakness during their time together, and pressing him to that point was often very hard.

Drake slowed down, taking more time for Sam to readjust properly, allowing the pleasure to become even greater this time. It was still dry and quite uncomfortable but at least he was trying. Those pained sounds didn't sound half as pleasurable as they had before.

Pulling out, he finally understood that this wasn't going anywhere nice.

In some twisted way of apologizing, he pulled towards Sam, slinking down and started working his mouth. Sam bit his knuckles hard to stop himself from making any noise, spine arching backwards from the intensity, also looking like his legs would give in and close the space between them at any given moment. But Drake forced them wider apart, tentacle tightly wrapping around one of Sam's feet to keep them apart, probably creating an ugly purple bruise.

Sam was red-faced and squirming but still it was something perfectly _innocent _about him in that moment. Drake tried to focus on pleasuring his body, ignoring how his own dick throbbed in impatience for what never came - though this was about Sam, not him.

This, somehow, had turned from a game to something more real.

It was about convincing Sam of something - something Drake wasn't _that_ sure of - and so far he'd been given no responses that hinted towards Sam being convinced.

Then Sam came, resulting in a hot salty explosion into Drake's awaiting mouth. Drake had done this before and didn't choke, swallowing him whole, avoiding a potential mess.

Sam lay limp for a while, breathing heavily. Drake decided he wouldn't pressure Sam into another round, and instead fixed the matter between his legs by himself. When Sam finally awakened from the 'aftermath coma', he came closer to Drake, tensing up a bit. But Drake allowed him to come closer, allowed

"Relax," Drake whispered, reversing their roles, being the one that pulled Sam closer for once. "Relax, it'll be alright..."

Then in Sam's eyes he saw something rewarding.

.

.

The day after, it all seemed a bit better.

"No but seriously what's in those chests?"

Drake huffed, eyes closed. He was lying sprawled out on the bed, not tired, but just plain lazy. Both his appetite when it came to food and... other things were stifled completely. Now he just wanted to lay around all day. "Stop being so damn... talkative..."

"I'm just curious," Sam said, frowning. When he got no response, he poked Drake again. "'Ey. I asked you something."

"_What?_"

Holding his arms up in defeat, Sam muttered, "Take it easy, I'm just asking, alright?"

Grunting, Drake slid out of bed (yes, he _slid_ out of bed like a wet eel) and made his way over to one of the chests. "Food, food, and..." he opened it. "Guns."

Sam fell quiet, then gave a shrug. "Should've guessed." He planted both feet on the bedside and yawned. At least now he didn't have to worry about Drake's past victims turning zombies and killing him during his sleep.

"Want me to teach you how to fire one?" Drake asked suddenly.

Sam gulped, honestly too shocked with this to answer at first. Was Drake toying with him? He knew that the gun collection stayed very close to Drake's heart - the psychopath's fond talking of them led Sam to even thinking he'd named them all - and allowing someone else to borrow them was something Sam thought he'd never do. He shouldn't have been flattered, but he couldn't help it.

Declining the offer would've been stupid.

Not only because he was turning down something this big - Drake actually showing some sort of trust towards him, allowing him to touch his most priced possessions - but because he honestly was very bad with guns. Edilio and Dekka did all the shooting, he had his glowing hands. So he honestly had almost no idea what to do if the occasion rose - he wasn't half as good as either of them and this could prove to be deadly in a long-range battle.

"I... Sure."

Drake shrugged, searching through the chest. He studied several guns; little ones and big ones, then looked over at Sam, shook his head, and went back to the search. After a while with Sam just standing there awkwardly, he finally muttered something close to "This should do" and held a small pistol up in the air.

"Got this baby a while ago." He held it up, smiling fondly at it. "It's great 'cos it's not too hard aiming with. Splendid for newbies like yourself." He handed it to Sam, "Here." A pause. "Do you even know how to hold it?"

Sam gripped the gun, unsure, and timidly shook his head.

Drake sighed, but didn't seem particularly irritated with Sam's lack of knowledge. It seemed as he enjoyed himself, rather, smirking and all. He pushed Sam forward a bit, so that he stood in front of the window, Drake right behind him.

"Now what you do is you hold it here, right?" He moved Sam's left hand up with his own. Then you get a good grip with your lower fingers on the handle right here, y'see?"

Nodding, Sam narrowed his eyes and tried to concentrate. Drake continued when he made sure Sam knew it well, "Make sure you have a tight grip, but... No, don't hold so hard with you thumb! It'll cease you from havin' a good aim... That's more like it. Now pretend that bush over there is a helpless little Human Crew member and see if you can hit it. I assume you know how to pull the safety off."

Sam immediately let go of the gun, allowing it to fall to the floor. "I don't kill people."

Face going from calm to raging in a second, Drake struggled not to hit him. "Pick it up," he sneered.

Scowling, Sam did pick it up again. Drake's tentacle immediately turned all snake and wrapped around his hand, all the way to the gun, forcing him to hold it still. Sam tried to throw him off, fighting against it, but Drake was harder than expected, tightening his grip and smashing his body against Sam's.

"Let me go you bastard! I don't want to do this anymore!" Panic started to wrap its cold, steely fingers around him, and he submitted to it. "_Let me go!_"

When Sam still refused to cooperative, fighting a lost battle, Drake bent his arm in a way so that the gun was pressed into his mouth. This made Sam go limp at once, eyes wide. Drake wasn't actually going to...?

"Will you behave now?"

A few hard breaths from behind him.

Sam nodded, scared, feeling how the hard metal left a cobber taste in his mouth. It made him shiver - it tasted just like blood. Drake took a deep breath to control himself and let go, sucking in Sam's small emotions like a few pants of a small shiver.

"You shouldn't have done that," Drake said slowly.

"Okay," was all Sam replied with. "Okay."

"I... How about we don't actually shoot on something? I just want you to get the feel of it in case... In case anything happens." Was Drake worried over his safety? It was touching, in a change way. "If someone tries to hurt ya, you gotta promise to kill 'em. It's either you or them, and I'd rather like to keep my property around."

"I'm not sure I could hurt anyone."

"It's not like you haven't done it before."

_'You hurt me, remember? Burnt my fucking arm off?'_

Sam swallowed thickly, staring at the whip-hand, knowing what Drake thought without him saying it. The red and blue veins that pumped blood through it and decorated the pink flesh would've bothered him hadn't he been so used to it. "That was different." _'I didn't mean to, not really anyway.' _"I got really angry."

"It changes nothing," Drake said, if not a tad bitterly. "Ya still did it."

"I'm sorry."

Drake tensed.

"Shut the hell up," he drawled, dismissing the touchy subject. "Let's just... continue." Drake sighed again. Sam nodded, pupils darting around, embarrassed.

Sam held the gun up, the tentacle still wrapped around his arm. Drake couldn't help himself as he laid his head on Sam's shoulder, watching how he held it and making small corrections.

Trying to get his mind over at something else, Sam openly admired Drake's knowledge at the area. So perhaps the sadist's IQ wasn't so low after all - he just had no interest in the theoretical part of school. Sam wondered if he could've been above the average (even smarter than the four-bar) if he'd just tried harder.

Then he felt the pressure leave his shoulder, only to find out that Drake's thoughts had also wandered over at something else entirely. Though admiration wasn't the feeling that sneaked into the atmosphere.

His tongue lapped out and in, travelling around on Sam's shoulder, and the beginning of his spine, now pressing his lips against it. Drake briefly wondered if it was possible to rip someone's spine out with one's teeth, but was distracted as he felt Sam stir lightly.

"It's alright," he muttered towards the fevered skin, already moving up towards the ear. "I'm here. I'll protect ya, even from yourself." He used his hand to gently guide Sam's face towards his, planting an assuring kiss on the four-bar's temple.

He could feel the beast relaxing.

_'I do what you fail to do everyday, townies. I tame him. I tame the monster. He's mine, and only mine.'_

His hand slipped a little further, hiding Sam's ability to see. His fingers slowly moved towards one another, making light a little by little be gone and leaving only darkness. And his tentacle made sure Sam wouldn't miss. "I can only help you steady it. You're the one that has to shoot."

Like that he twisted Sam's mind.

"Sometimes we gotta do things we don't like Sammy, to the benefit of ourselves or others. You're hero, you should know that."

_Click!_

_Safety off. _

"There are not only good and bad y'know, not only black and white. There are only different shades of grey. We should know that by now, shouldn't we? You're not evil; you don't commit evil acts when submitting to me. We don't break any of society's important rules by indulging in pleasure."

_Click!_

_Safety on. _

"Killing one instead of hundreds... Doesn't that appeal to you, especially if the same someone tried to take your life?"

Drake struck a nerve. The memory of the little girl that had tried to kill him (in self-defence and panic, but still) and ended up dead was still fresh in his mind, along with the deaths of others, but that had been his first unintentional kill and he still remembered as if it had been yesterday. Sam swallowed, him being the one that clicked the safety off this time.

Smirking, Drake uncurled his whip from Sam's hand, stepping backwards.

_'Let's determine if you have the guts to take a life, Sammy.'_

In the very second Drake's hand left his eyes, Sam shot, and the whole bush shook, several orange leaves falling from the thin tree trunk as the bullet went straight through it.

Sam immediately let go off the gun, breathing hard, probably having imaged someone's head. His midnight-blue eyes were wider than anytime Drake had seen, and without concern when it came to Drake, he stumbled backwards and fell into the bed. He crawled backwards until he felt something press against his back, hyperventilating. He buried his head in his arms, breath not seeming to behave regularly yet.

Drake followed after without a word, forcing Sam's legs apart and sitting between them. He cupped Sam's chin up, "You did good. Don't worry."

"I'm not a k-killer," Sam mumbled, stammering a bit.

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does," Sam retorted, obviously frustrated as he ran a hand through his auburn hair. "I... I don't want to be a friggin' four-bar. I don't want to kill. It's all I ever do, you know? Protect the supposed good-doers and kill or hurt the evil-doers, only allowed to see it in black and white, only kept alive because of these stupid hands..."

Drake wasn't sure what to do - he'd never been amazing when it came to comfort (in fact, he sucked) - and stood over Sam rather awkwardly. "We could run away."

"To where?"

"I don't kno-"

"Forget it, it's useless anyway. I couldn't leave the people who count at me." He looked up at Drake. "I can't stay here forever. We can't just close our ears and pretend like there are no wars to be fought out there, 'cos they'll catch up to our reality sooner or later..."

Drake was silent. He noticed that he'd clenched his fist so hard he'd scraped himself up badly, and as he unclenched his fingers, there was blood. Owlishly, he blinked at it. How strange.

"Do you think that back before the FAYZ we could've been together?"

"No."

"Me neither." Sam closed his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But in another world... Could we have...?"

"Maybe," Drake mumbled. The mood in the room was becoming heavy, and it bugged him to no end. He wanted to command Sam to stop with this stupid conversation that brought them nowhere, but couldn't bring himself to say it, couldn't bring himself to yell.

"Oh." Sam inched closer to him, his head resting in the corner of Drake's neck. Drake froze but his tentacle curled itself around Sam's neck and head, squeezing comfortingly. The stupid thing seemed to react more to Drake's heart's (which seemed miraculously existent) desires instead of his mind's. Sam only rubbed his head into Drake's chest, smiling sadly.

When they parted, there was an awkward silence from Drake's part. Sam just continued to smile, distracted by the sunset outside. It was becoming darker, and the fake sky where lighted up with all sorts of beautiful colours.

To get a better look, Sam tried to stretch his neck so he got a better view. He stood up in the bed, surprising Drake so that he took a hold of the other boy. Sam soon lost balance, resulting in both of them falling into the onyx-coloured silk sheets. It was like falling into a pool of ebony, Drake sinking into it with Sam on top.

"Get off!"

Sam was about to listen, but stopped. "No."

"Why?" Drake retorted, eyebrows drawing downwards. He crossed his arms.

Instead of rewarding his lack of violence with a verbal reply, Sam started kissing his neck, slowly going downwards. He stopped with Drake's stomach, nibbling gently on the flesh. Drake groaned, but didn't look any happier of bottoming again. Not that they hadn't been in this position before, but it was usually by Drake's request, not Sam's.

"You trying to prove something again, Temple? Don't even bother. You suck too much."

"Then you're going to teach me," Sam replied, going downwards.

Drake groaned again, feeling how that damn tongue travelled further. "Want help? Treat it like a strawberry ice-cream~!" he offered from above, always so helpful.

"Who taught you that?"

"People."

Sam felt like he'd been stung, and stopped. "There have been others?"

"None of your business."

"Oh."

Tense wouldn't even begin to describe the mood.

"You're my best fuck though." When this glorious compliment didn't get a proper reaction, Drake had to push it further, actually telling the truth, hating himself. "And my... my first _real_ experience was with you. Happy now?"

"So you _haven't_ actually slept with anybody before me?" He looked shocked, not mocking Drake about it.

Still, the sand-blonde teen shifted, growling. He resisted the urge to kick the crap out of Sam just for bringing up the embarrassing subject. Was Sam really that stupid? Of course there were no others. The folks at Coates couldn't stifle his needs, and he'd never seen the joy of sex until acting on instinct when meeting Sam anyway.

He didn't know when he'd understood that he was attracted to the boy (still was), but he did know that attraction and hatred could live close without destroying each other. This was something he thought he knew, anyway.

"Oh go kill yerself. Now finish what you were starting on."

Sam did as told, not able to keep himself from humming on some light tune. He licked Drake slowly, trailing his tongue up to Drake's hypersensitive head. He couldn't view it any longer because he fell backwards on the mattress, cursing and becoming harder.

"Take the... whole damn thing in your mouth," Drake hissed sharply.

"As the lady commands," Sam said, working his mouth. He made sure it wouldn't hit the back of his throat and cause him to choke though. Growing anxious, Drake grabbed Sam's hair and mouth-fucked him in a steady pace. Sam refused to be weak and continued on, taking in as much Drake as he was able to.

"Bastard... _Hmnn_..."

The muscles in Drake's entire body prepared for the upcoming orgasm, bracing themselves. He moaned, falling backwards again, allowing Sam to work his magic alone. He was unable to come up with any negative comment to hide his pleasure, secretively shameful that Sam could see him like this.

When did the boy get so good with his mouth?

And then he had no more time for wonder as he came into Sam's mouth. Colourful dots that could resemble moons and planets and suns and stars flew across Drake's vision, and he made some muffled scream that could've been Sam's name. Drake didn't care.

Sam wiped semen of his mouth, proud over having swallowed all of it. Didn't let it show though, just smirked. Drake was too out-of-it to see, but he could feel Sam's pride, and almost puked off it. Think, he'd allowed Sam a victory! It was dangerous, how quick Sam became better at screwing. He was like a hare in heat. Drake didn't mind about the latter, but he had to do something so that Sam didn't get some ridicules ideas... Like regularly switching...

Drake mentally shivered. However, Sam didn't see his expression, and came closer. To his surprise, Drake didn't seem to mind. He realized pretty quickly that Drake had gone into the same state which he'd been before the gun fiasco. Still pretty bored, he stretched and tried to find out something to do.

"Will you stop moving?" Drake growled.

"Sorry then for being bored," Sam retorted in the same tone.

"Can't you be quiet for two seconds?" Drake sat up, looking for some clothes. "Or is that too hard for you as well? Christ, I swear you're born without talent."

"I do have talents," Sam replied, angered.

Gritting his teeth together, he stuck out his hands and a greenish light erupted. Drake, who was in the process of pulling the zipper of his jeans up, almost fell backwards. Sam was too concentrated to notice the frightened expression that crossed Drake's face.

Drake recalled it like it was yesterday. The sudden, intense pain, the smell of bunt flesh, how a firework of hurt exploded inside his head and left him screaming his lungs out. How he lost all his dignity and Diana had to saw his arm off.

He looked over at Sam. He'd thought about killing him then. The only thing that kept him alive was his sadistic ideas on how he was going to kill the bastard who'd ruined his life. He'd went through with the slaughter too if their meeting hadn't been disturbed by sin, hatred transforming into raw lust.

It was as if Satan and God had held a meeting and made them do this, God to stop a hero's murder, Satan to make the hero sin.

"It's warm," Sam said, "Almost like a heartbeat, or a little bird."

To see Sam enjoy something that had nearly killed him and mentally (and physically) scarred for life, made him angry. _Very_ angry.

"Turn it out," Drake growled, snapping Sam out of his trance by taking hold of Sam's wrists. He squeezed, hard, also making sure to keep the flames as far as way from him as possible. "Turn it out **now**, Temple, I won't ask twice."

The flame vanished immediately, as if it had never existed in the first place.

"I know," Sam winced but did close his hand, expression saddening. Drake noticed red marks where he'd held Sam. "People tell me it all the time."

Drake sneered, taking it as an insult. He was not one of those lowly commoners, not a damn pussy townie that had to make someone else fight their fights, and although not intended, he felt like Sam had just told him that. But he couldn't retort with anything either because that would just make him appear like an even bigger idiot; scolding Sam for something he hadn't done.

"They're pussies, being scared of you." He poked Sam's nose. "You're about as dangerous as a housecat, fire hands or not. Ain't useful if you can't use 'em to kill. They're just cowering before you 'cos they _need_ something to be afraid off, they _need_ something to hate, they _need_ something to take their frustration out on. You just happened to be a perfect choice. In reality, you're nothing but a scared. Fragile. Little. Child."

Silence.

Sam blinked a few times. "Are you scared?" Before waiting for an answer, the flame intensified, and he crawled closer. He could see Drake flinched and his eyes became half-lidded, thinking he understood. "I'm sorry."

That was quite enough.

Drake lashed out, mind burning with rage. His whip hit diagonally across Sam's chest, easily tearing through his shirt with a _snap!_ He growled and held his tentacle arm now in the air, ready to attack Sam again at any given moment. He barely managed to contain himself.

"You really think sorry is enough Sam? God you're so stupid. I should kill you for it, would end it all."

Sam didn't say anything, just looked really, really sad. But instead of apologizing again, the green flame appeared again in one of his hands, quite small this time. Drake still trembled a bit when he saw it. He considered twisting off Sam's hands for a moment, just so the four-bar could feel how it was like.

Drake flinched noticeably, yet still appeared murderous.

He expected the four-bar to tremble.

He expected the four-bar to tell him how tremendously sorry he was for even suggesting such a stupid thing.

He expected the four-bar to submit to his will like always.

Instead he smirked. _Smirked_. What a goddamn bastard.

They were really nothing alike, nothing alike at all.

"You really are scared," Sam said calmly, coming closer.

"Get away from me, you freak!"

"Says the one with the tentacle arm," Sam replied with the same tone, only raising an eyebrow when Drake tried to kick and punch him.

Even if Drake sometimes hit, he'd just come closer and closer, until he reached out and that gruesome fire appeared again. Green was the colour of poison - was Sam trying to kill him? Drake panicked, unable to act cool, and became even more hysterical in his motions.

"_GET AWAY FROM ME!_" he screamed.

"It's just a fire, Merwin. It's just my fire. It ain't dangerous if I don't want to hurt you. And... And I don't want to hurt you, ok?"

Drake swallowed thickly, having already kicked off half the sheets in his rabid panic attack.

"Close my hand."

"I'm not coming anywhere near that... _thing_." _'It ruined my humanity, remember?'_ "Put it out and stop acting stupid. I won't bother you anymore this night, just... Put. It. Out."

"No," Sam whispered. "You do it. You put it out. Prove to me that you're not afraid of m- _it_." It was just a tongue slip, it meant nothing, Sam reasoned himself with. He ignored how the heat in his cheeks worsened.

Drake groaned, and reached out a tense hand. He drew it back several times, unable to do it once he felt the warmth.

"It's just fire."

'Not helping,' Drake thought. But he closed his eyes for moment, building up the courage. Then he studied the greenish flame, seeing how small it really was. "It is... it is kind of pretty," Drake said, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. He was a little shocked by his own words._ 'But... death is often beautiful. I wonder if Sam sees it too.'_

"Yeah," Sam said, smiling sadly, "It kinda is."

Drake stopped shaking and closed Sam's hand, slowly, watching how the flame got tinier and tinier till there was nothing left.

Then out of nowhere, Drake jumped on Sam and hugged the shit out of him. "I hate ya," he muttered, his embrace tightening, almost squeezing the air out of Sam, who now had been reduced to Drake's personal teddy bear.

"Hate you too," Sam replied with a big, goofy, and strangely cute smile. Getting rid of one of your boyfriend's biggest fears wasn't everyday business.

.

.

Boredom took a hold of him eventually.

Not exactly boredom, per se, because if he got bored he'd usually just sleep or shower until Drake returned. When he 'slept' he made sure to wrinkle Drake's sheets so bad the psychopath actually had to do something for once and when showering he used to hottest water to mess with the Coates kids. Lucky no one saw him laughing evilly in the shower.

Oh well, if they did, they would probably mistaken it for Caine having a dictator moment. Drake had once said that happened quite a lot.

However, it was curiosity that made him leave Drake's room, not boredom, and perhaps a little stupidity as well.

Sam was wandering through the halls of Coates, chuckling to himself. It was late and he sneaked around in the shadows, ready to run if anyone spotted him. It was dumb, but he was drunk off curiosity and needed some action. Drake was away anyway, so the sadist couldn't know if he'd been gone for long.

He spotted a dark figure in the end of the hall, coming his way with zombie-like movements.

Sam couldn't help but wonder if this person was sleep-walking or drunk or something, and instead of running in the opposite direction he stayed. The person looked as if he was about to kill himself, standing in front of the window and gazing out into the night. Unable to control his hero urges, Sam opened his gap to say something, but unable to do that as well, knowing he would blow his cover.

Then the person turned.

Sam's eyes widened.

Oh crap.

Of all the people that had stayed in Coates it was _him_ Sam met.

Caine Soren stood and stared at him.

He still looked positively dead, body croaked forward, dark circles underneath his eyes, but it was the brown eyes that was worth. Those black holes held so much despair and misery that Sam had problems continuing to stare at him.

Sam felt coldness creep down from the back of his head, make the hairs there raise, then continuing downwards along his body.

This was it, he'd get discovered and captured, tortured for information and killed, oh god he should never have agreed to travel here, he was so stupid...

But the sociopath merely blinked and brought his thumb up to his face, gnawing on it in a distressed manner. "You're not supposed to be here."

"W-What?" Sam stammered.

"This isn't the right time." Caine's eyes became distant, thoughts clouding his mind. He stepped backwards, into the shadows. "This isn't the right time at all, _He _says so. We're not supposed to meet you."

"Who?"

"We won't tell anyone that you're here," Caine continued dreamily, not answering his question. "Fly away, little butterfly, fly fly fly. We won't tell. _He _says you'll be dealt with soon enough anyway." One of his eyes started twitching, and Caine met Sam's gaze again. "So it's alright. You may go, brother. Next time we meet, _He _might not be so generous."

One didn't need to ask Sam twice. He hurried in the other direction, and when turning around while running, Caine was still standing like a stone statue in the dark. But Sam swore it looked as if his eyes glowered in in a radioactive green.

.

.

Sam chose to not tell Drake about to incident.

He also chose to never leave Drake's room ever again.

.

.

There were certain situations Sam never thought he would've found himself in.

One of them was brushing his teeth with Drake Merwin in a Coates bathroom.

...At least Drake did something to prevent bad breath.

The private bathroom was nice enough - Drake had held it remotely clean - with light pink walls and sink in the same colour. Drake had briefly explained that this had once been the psychologist office and that the place was in such an obnoxious colour to keep the patients from thinking dark and evil thoughts. Dr. Wikse had said it was a waste of time, Drake had said, and Sam felt as if deep within, the psychopath had held some sort of respect for the man.

When Sam had asked why the hell there was a bathtub there, Drake had explained that some kids were more weird than others. He didn't need to tell more about the subject. "Use your imagination," he'd said.

"I'll take a shower," Sam said to get his mind over at something else.

"You do that," Drake said with a mouth full of toothpaste foam. He reminded Sam of a rabies-infested dog, and he had an odd feeling of déjà vu. Brushing it off, Sam headed for the united bathtub and shower when he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Aren't you going to leave?"

"Oh but Temple, you're not even undressed yet. Plus I want to bathe too... And how do we solve that problem?"

"We bath together," Sam finished lamely, shaking his head over the dumbness of Drake's actions. He just smirked and embraced him from behind, hard, almost crushing his shoulders to pieces in the process.

"Exactly," he whispered, and started working on the buttons of Sam's shirt. He'd made the boy wear the finest silk, and since Sam had yet to thank him, he expected payment in other ways... "We bath together."

Sam had to restrain himself from not punching Drake in the face, tearing himself away and setting the tap on hot water. They helped each other undress, Sam wearing a scowl that told Drake to cut down on the constant molestation, a scowl that was ignored.

When Drake became particularly wild he pushed Sam backwards so that the four-bar accidently pushed some box into the bath. It made some sort of light red dust go around and hundreds of small paper hearts floated up. The red dust made the bath water all pinkish, and the smell of fresh strawberries immediately spread throughout the room.

Both of them grimaced.

Sam's want to know who the fuck had requested this to be at the bathroom which leaded to the psychologist office reduced to ashes.

"That was your fucking fault," Drake blamed him as per usual.

"Whatever," Sam said, "You're the one who pushed me."

"Did not."

"Did so."

"Shut up."

"Let's just get in the bath, alright?" Sam finally gave in, gesturing towards the pink water. Drake looked as if it was infested with deadly poison - he'd not wanted to be caught dead in a pink strawberry bathtub. "It can't be that bad. Nobody will see it but me, alright, and nobody would believe be if I said I'd shared a pink bath with Drake Merwin."

Drake grunted. It made sense. "You go first."

Rolling his eyes but doing as told, Sam rose a foot and stuck a toe into the steaming water. It was very warm, and he had to stifle a wince as he stepped inside. There were glass around to keep on the warmth, and as soon as they both were inside, they closed the glass door. Steam prevented them from seeing rest of the pink room, thank god, it was bad enough with the water.

As soon as both of them had spent a good five minutes in the bath, none of them had made a move to go closer to each other. It was too hot to move, and both of their faces were completely red. It almost burnt, in a good way.

They had to wait even longer before a small conversation developed, mostly centring around things that had existed before the FAYZ, like how they hated some teachers (in which Drake was a bit too graphic as he described his torture fantasies) and Sam got to rant about the townies as much as he wanted.

It was nice just talking like this.

Usually Drake had hurt everyone who tried to get him to open up, much like a certain villain that lacked a nose.

Sam chuckled as Drake came a bit closer, lying his head on Sam's shoulder, breathing in the scent of strawberries. Now Sam smelled like it too, and to his surprise, it wasn't too bad.

Then someone decided to interrupt them.

Again.

"Merwin! Oh for god's sake!" came an irritated shout from outside, followed by banging on the door.

There was only one person twisted enough to knock on the infamous Merwin's door...

_'Ladris.'_

"I know you're in there, answer me!"

Was interrupting sexy time becoming a habit of the ladies in the FAYZ?

"What the fuck do you want?"

"You're using up all the hot water," Diana replied angrily, "Y'know we have set up times for usage of water, and I'd advice you to follow it, unless you want half the population left here," in this madhouse, "to go around smelling like dead people."

"They already do!" he retorted, splashing water everywhere in his anger. "So go bother someone else. Go suck off to Soren for all I care; that seems to be all you're doing around here, yeah? You know I won't fuckin' hurt ya, but I'm very close at the moment."

What followed was a pause.

"He's becoming himself again, Merwin."

Drake's eyes widened a bit, and then became normal, but not quick enough for Sam not to notice. He stared up at Drake, who ignored his existence. "I see," he paused. "This means the oath is soon over, yes?" He got no response, only retreating footsteps. His expression became thoughtful.

"What was that?" Sam asked after a long while.

"Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head off about, 'kay?" Drake gave a half-smirk and ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. "It's nothing. We're here to relax, yeah? Here to forget about responsibilities and war..."

"Yeah," Sam agreed quietly, stifling his curiosity enough to ask anymore.

Drake nodded and made his way over to Sam, starting to plant small kisses along his pulse, feeling how the little heart beat beneath his lips.

"Admit it, you just want to cuddle," Sam mumbled, smirking a bit.

They parted for a moment, only for Drake to say "Fuck you" and thereafter continue the make-out session.

Life was good.

Filled with food, laziness, and amazing sex.

Sam thought he'd be sick of spending time in Drake's room all the time with the psychopath, but he was wrong, he hadn't been this good since before all the FAYZ crap. Besides, Drake sometimes left to attend some important meetings - which they never talked about it - so he got some time to himself too. Sam knew better than to ask about them - this was his vacation. Astrid wasn't here to give him homework.

He wasn't Sam the hero, he was Drake's Sam.

It felt better then it should've muttering those words. Oh well. Unless there were mind-readers at Coates he had nothing to fear, and continued nibbling on a pack of hard noodles. He hadn't tasted such in ages.

.

.

Sam dreamt that night.

It was horrible and he was dying and everybody was dying and oh god-

Sam was crying in his sleep, weeping silently.

But for once, he wasn't entirely alone.

Drake watched him cry with mixed emotions, unable to keep the feeling of interest away from his mind - what could make the hero cry so openly? - but also slightly annoyed by it. The reason for nightmares was almost always fear, and why was Sam so afraid when he had Drake around?

So he reasoned himself it was only to shut Sam up when he pulled the body closer, allowing Sam to wrap his arms around Drake and hide his face in his chest. He didn't really care if Sam had woken up, but as he felt Sam's breathe become normal, he soon fell into sleepland himself.

.

.

Caine sat in his way-too-big office chair, a sight Drake hadn't seen in a long time. But he could see that the Fearless Leader wasn't entirely sane - it was the little things that reminded him of this. The details. Drake saw them all, the unnatural twitching, brown eyes darting around, the paranoia.

Back before the FAYZ, he'd often seen some of Dr. Wikse's other patients who'd looked quite the same, even if no one had been as violent as Drake. He hadn't killed anybody, oh no, there were no killers at Coates despite popular townie belief. However, Drake wondered if Caine had ever seen Dr. Wikse. He sure looked like he could use it, anyway. If there had been adults in the FAYZ they'd probably force a lot of pills down his throat to keep him calm, but in this world without anyone over sixteen, the mad king could rule without anyone being crazy enough to challenge him.

Not even Drake.

"You wanted me, here I am," Drake said in a growling kind of way, wearing his standard scowl. He'd been called exactly when he'd thought about doing all sorts of kinky things to Sam, and wondered if Caine somehow knew how to make Drake angry no matter what.

"Yes, yes, yes I did," Caine mumbled, looking a bit lost, like he struggled to grasp the memory. Then he snapped out of it, blinking a few times before his eyes narrowed. "I feel better now too, thank you very much for asking." He was about to take a sip of water, but stopped as he noticed the water was replaced with worms, and looked more sour than shocked. Some of them crawled out, and he let go, pouring them out onto his desk. At least, in his mind, worms crawled around. Drake only saw water.

Great, Fearless Leader with reality delusions was such fun!

"How much better?" Drake asked curiously, disguising his sarcasm. "So better that you won't slip into madness and change personalities regularly, or see stuff, again? 'Cos that is _'better'_, in my opinion."

One of Caine's eyes twitched a bit, but he didn't answer. The other eye went towards his left side. "I'm able to talk sense at the moment. Anyhow, I just wanted to tell you to be more careful about your affair." He pinched the bridge of his nose, and suddenly looked into the corner of the room like he'd seen something, studying it for a couple of seconds.

But Drake froze when he understood what Caine had said.

"Affair?" he blurted.

"You and the townie hero," Caine confirmed. He then started eating invisible candy from the empty glass bowl there, chewing on it and looking like he enjoyed it. Again he looked around in the room to make sure there weren't any ghost ladies there. "Y'know, my... my... my... b-b-brothe_r_. The stupid one. Brown hair, blue eyes?" He started making some weird movements with his hands. "The one with the fire arms. Sam. Sammy. Sam Soren- wait no, Temple. We're releated, I think."

Drake just continued staring at him, thousands of questions running through his head. How the hell could Caine know anything at all about his relationship with Sam? He'd been so clever, making sure no one saw him... _'How?' _He was getting desperate to know his mistake, but not a word managed to slip out.

"I know all about it," Caine said, licking his fingers, looking quite mad as always, "Don't ask me how I know, I just do."

Drake swallowed. "You're not... mad?"

"Should I be?" Caine seemed genuinely curious.

"Well... We are mortal enemies and all... And he's your twin-brother and you have some sort of grudge towards him or whatever..."

_'He is?'_ Caine looked a little shocked, but then his eyes became half-lidded and calm._ 'How weird. Yet...'_ "So? There's nothing I will do about it. You can have your fun. You can screw him. But I hope you're not in love Merwin - that wouldn't be good if he gets in the way another time, correct? Y'see, I'm allowing it this time, while I'm still recoving from..." he grabbed another handful of invisible drops. "...this. Want some?"

"No thanks."

"Suit yourself," Caine said, shrugging.

"So... You won't stop it? Won't yell? Won't demand that I'll bring him to you so you can squeeze out secrets?"

Was that hope in his voice? Drake couldn't help it; the thought of Sam staying on Coates under Drake's care forever was an alluring thought. But he knew it would take a long time buildning their relationship up again after betraying Sam, and patience was something he didn't have loads of. But, needless to say, it didn't seem impossible for him to do.

"Nope."

Drake had no idea what to say, so he awkwardly stood up and got ready to leave. A little glimpse of the normal Caine shined through as he smirked arrogantly, the love of Drake's frustrated expression surpassing the madness for a little bit. "But I must say I'm disappointed in your taste. Interested in men or not, I thought you'd find someone more fit for someone like you, not a little-two-shoes whose performance in bed is probably worth less than an F." Then he stopped looking so smug and started giggling hysterically instead.

Drake stopped, his hand on the doorknob, and started shaking. "At least I get _something_!"

The door slammed shut.

Caine tilted his head to the side, chewing on his thumb. It took some time before he understood the joke, and he sighed, turning towards the heavens. "He's just jealous of the eyeball candy, right, Gaiaphage?"

Then he thought he saw the Mad Hatter and fell off his chair. Diana arrived sometime later, knowing nothing about the mad king's meeting with Drake. He had no plans of telling her either. She went over to him, helping him up from the floor, completely used to finding him in random places in random postition. "What are you doing here?" she asked softly.

"Waiting for _Dies Irae_," Caine explained briefly, and wore a sad smile. "The Day of Wrath."

.

.

It was a boring afternoon, both of them just relaxing.

Boring as in they hadn't sexed each other up yet.

Sam decided to change this.

He grabbed Drake's hand, letting two fingers gently slip in and out of his mouth. It didn't take long before he started working his mouth in the perfect way only Sam could; tongue sticking out to caress Drake, still moving the fingers around in his mouth.

Drake just watched, amused and intrigued on how Sam closed his eyes in concentration, the corner of his mouth tilting upwards. He opened his eyes again, tilting his head to the side, still looking at Drake, smirking. He couldn't take it anymore. Drake crawled on top of him, Sam's smirk widening and he rose his bottom, forcing Drake to look at the intruder between his legs.

"God you're a bastard. I should chain ya up."

"Uh-huh."

"Have chains all around your body… yer legs, yer arms, yer fucking _cock_…"

"Someone has a _thing_ for _bondage_~!" Sam sang, stretching his arms out.

Drake grinned and scraped his fingertips up Sam's warm and wet thigh, feeling on how an arousal was already building up. He wanted to taste the sweat of their lovemaking one more time and bit down on Sammy's throat, licking up till he met his mouth, uniting them in one last kiss before the real shit started.

The pulsating almost vibrating tentacle was already curling itself around Sam's body, lifting him up in a way so that his ass was perfectly fuckable (which was a word in Drake's small dictionary).

Drake made sure to pour generous amounts of lubrication into his hand this time, finger-fucking Sam until he was hot and bothered.

"Damn bitch," he muttered, "Patience is a virtue."

Not that any of them was any good at something else than sinning anyway.

Sam licked his lips, spreading his legs even further. Drake was already on top of him, guiding himself to Sam's entrance. His member rubbed against the perky hole before entering, making sure that Sam knew what was going to happen exactly. It wasn't rushed at all, the way he slowly thrust himself into Sam.

The four-bar mumbled something along the lines of "Jesus Christ Merwin..."

Drake covered Sam's eyes with his free, lube-stained fingers. "That's right," he whispered sensually, "I'm your savoir." He let a breathless chuckle fly past his lips before speeding up, feeling how Sam's eyes squinted in a way that could only mean smiling.

There wasn't much pain for Sam today, not when Drake had been so good at preparation.

In the midst of the hot steaminess, he felt teeth grace his shoulder. "You... can bite me if y'like," Sam offered, and held back a wince as Drake's jaw buried themselves deep, like a shark bite. It triggered an early release, this blatant desire, but Drake managed to hold it, barely.

He still smelled like strawberries.

Drake breathed hard.

"Sam," he whispered, "Come with me."

_'Where?'_

Blue eyes looked up at him, glanced over with such intensity that Drake thought he was going to spill himself then and there. But he just managed to contain it and quickened his pace, feeling how all the bones in Sam's body shook and how he groaned and how time stood still and how-

_'To Hell.'_

Drake released, coming with a deranged cry, louder than anything he'd uttered before. He fell backwards, exhausted, only listening to his own breathing. His own bones had turned into mush. Couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't think.

And the angel and the demon fell - hand in hand - towards the fiery, dark underground.

It took some time for him to recover from his orgasm. He wondered if Sam felt the same - and by the look of the auburn-haired uke, he had.

The psycho stared at Sam's panting lips, those being so inviting that it caused all his remaining willpower not to rush over to him and bite them, just to see if they tasted as sugary as they looked. "Round two," he demanded, making his way over to the half-sleeping form.

"No fucking way."

"I wasn't asking," Drake stated. "I want you real bad..."

"What do you want me as? A boyfriend?" Sam asked, trying to not sound so hopeful.

Drake rolled his eyes and continued molesting him, "Sure, I'll be your _boyfriend_…" His hand travelled downwards, tentacle following soon after.

Sam chuckled, ignoring how his heart skipped a bit. Drake sniggered with him, so it was all good.

.

.

_"Du vil, du vil, du vil  
>(You want, you want, you want)<em>

_Men du kommer aldri videre  
>(But you never go further)<em>

_Se soldatene falle  
>(See the soldiers falling)<em>

_Du vil, du vil, du vil  
>(You want, you want, you want)<em>

_Du kommer aldri tilbake  
>(You never come back)"<em>

"Kapitulera"; Susanne Sundfør

.

.

There was something strangely romantic about sitting on the back of his 'boyfriend's' motor cycle. The early morning wind played with his hair, and his arms were tight around Drake's waist, face buried in the leather of his jacket. It smelled like Drake. And Drake smelled kind of good.

Sam allowed himself a small smile, head on Drake's shoulder. He still didn't seem to mind much, gaze still on the road. There weren't anyone on the road in this early hour, and a bird or two were the only one to see the two racing from Coates to Perdido Beach.

"So this is it, then?" Drake asked when he stepped off his motorbike.

"This is it?" Sam smirked, sticking out his tongue. "Are you trying to dump me or somethin~? 'Cos you're not doing a very good job…"

Drake rolled his eyes, "Shut up Sam. Y'know you wouldn't survive without me… And I can't go and kill FAYZ oh so great hero, can I now?"

Sam grinned, shoving his hand down his pockets. Drake just rolled his eyes again, but couldn't keep himself from smirking.

When he returned to the house, he almost skipped on the whole way home, wearing that big grin. This hadn't been so bad, not at all. He tried to live in the present, and not worry about the future. The Drake he knew wasn't the Drake he was going to war with - a war that seemed much further away than it really was.

But as he entered the house, his grin vanished.

Astrid stood there, eyes dark.

"Sam, we need to talk. This can't go any further."

He froze, having a vague awareness of what she hinted at. But it couldn't be... "What are you talking about?" Just couldn't...

One of her nostrils pulsated, and she looked at him with disgust. "Your little affair."

_**tbc...**_

.

.

**A/N: **...And then Hell breaks loose.

I was listening to Kyary Pamyu Pamyu while writing this (-。－；) So I must speak through riceballs to explain my feelings. But yeah; it explains the pink bath cliché thing.

Note this: The prostate** isn't **'a buddle of nerves'. That's the clitoris in the female body. The prostate is a gland, which releases chemicals into the male body. Common mistake among slash writers.

Assvirgin, derp.


	5. Invidia

**Disclaimer: **Disclaimed.

**Author's note/warnings:** Contains a lot of graphic torture, violence and a little bit of non-descriptive non-con. The worst has yet to come, though dearest beta-reader **DreamCatcher96** continues her amazing work~! ;w;

.

.

**Onyx: V**

_"You broke my heart... So I'll break you."_

**Invidia (envy)**

To feel envy on account of; to have a feeling of grief or repining, with a longing to possess (some excellence or good fortune of another, or an equal good fortune, etc.); to look with grudging upon; to begrudge

_._

_._

_Astrid stood there, eyes dark. _

_"Sam, we need to talk. This can't go any longer."_

_"What are you talking about?"_

_One of her nostrils pulsated, and she looked at him with disgust. "Your little affair."_

.

.

_Yagate hito wa kegarete  
>(Eventually humans corrupt)<em>

_Hito ga hito de somerarete  
>(Humans can be discoloured by other humans)<em>

_Tomo ni ikiru kono hoshi somete  
>(This star they both live on together is discoloured)<em>

_Mizukara no kubi shimetsukeru  
>(They strangle themselves)<em>

"Kowarete Iku Sekai"; Girugamësh

.

.

Sam swallowed in an attempt to get down the lump blockading his throat, leaving him unable to speak. He tried a second time. And a third.

He felt as if the silence would choke him to death any minute; the lump in his throat failing to reduce as time passed. He also felt how a light ache began to throb in his head and he reached out to massage his temple, pupils daring nervously around in the room, watching all but her.

"For how long have you known?" he asked finally, though with the volume very low.

"Long enough," she answered sharply. "Honestly, it's not that hard to see. Our sudden relationship pause, your bad attitude and lack of listening to me, and most of all your most recent disappearance... I wasn't the best in my class for nothing, Sam, I'm smart enough to figure it out. And... You also have someone's lovestink all over you." She sniffed in the air. Turned a little red. "My friends told me about the danger signs..."

So she hadn't been entirely sure until she'd spoken to her supposed friends. That made him feel even worse. If he'd stayed, he might have avoided this. If only he hadn't you-know-what with Drake on a council table, that furthermore lead to their trip to Coates.

"Tell me... How long have you been _mingling_ with her?"

_'Her?' _Sam looked shocked, then understood she had no idea who he was fucking around with. That made him feel a little better, if not nothing. Then he felt guilty again. "I didn't..."

"It was even before our 'pause', wasn't it?" Astrid's lips formed a thin line, but she refused to cry. "She must've tricked you, Sam... I loved you, I really did! How could you betray me like this, pretending you were hurt and tired all the time when in reality you were with another girl? She must've tricked you, Sam! She must be a horrible witch, twisting your mind into forgetting all about your responsibilities and _me_! How can you be with a sick... sick _slut_ like that?"

"That's bullshit!" Sam suddenly said, a little angry over how she could accuse someone who meant something to him (even if admitting that was hard) of being a whore. "Drake's not like t-"

He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening in unison with hers.

"D-Drake?" she said, unable to believe him.

There was only one Drake in the FAYZ.

But it couldn't be.

No.

She refused to believe it.

Yet Sam's eyes were big and sad, and he made no move to speak against it.

"Please tell me... Of all the people in the FAYZ..."

_'Please don't let it be Drake Merwin.'_

"Dear God," she prayed, "Please don't tell me Sam cheated on me with Drake Merwin, Perdido Beach's worst enemy and the psychopath henchman of child murderer Caine Soren. My worst enemy, the one who tormented me so... Anyone but him."

When she received no answer from the heavens, she turned in slow-motion towards Sam to hear him deny it. To hear him scream and even laugh at the whole ridiculousness of the scene. But no denial came, and he looked away instead of telling her the unbelievable truth. His facial expression was answer enough.

She had to put a hand in front of her mouth to not puke, and could not decide which was worst - her boyfriend screwing with her worst enemy and the person who had hurt her the most, or the fact that Sam had... had _done the naughty _with a _man_!

Sam felt how the insides of his mouth went all dry.

"You're not even denying it," she said simply. "You... You disgust me."

The window was open, he dully noted. Fresh breeze flew in and toyed with her hair. Though this didn't make her seem any more merciful.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what Sam? For breaking my heart? For cheating on me? For sleeping with the enemy? "

"I never cheated on you," Sam said quickly. "I ended it when this... this _thing_ started." Sam sighed, shoving his hands deep down into his pockets, like he'd escape to Narnia if he drew them deep enough. He paused, and then looked up again. "I didn't intend to do this, I didn't intend for it to end such a horrific way, I did not intend to-"

"You didn't intend on doing anything at all, did you, Sam?"

Her manners vanished. Was it wind ruining every bit of humane emotions from his ex-girlfriend's beautiful face? Because it certainly was quick, how she went from sad to downright fuming. Yet when angered, she still held that ever remaining natural beauty that brought him pain, because although she was beautiful, he could feel attraction no longer.

"All you ever did was... _screw_ that damned monster! Didn't it occur to you that this makes you a traitor?"

"I'm no traitor," Sam argued, "I never betrayed anyone by being with him. We didn't talk about war, we didn't talk about Perdido Beach, we didn't-"

"I checked up on you the second day in case you were thinking about ignoring orders and going on adventures," Astrid interrupted him, tone crass, ignoring his words, "and you could guess my reaction when you did _just_ that. I'd expected better of you," she said underneath her breath, before straightening. "But I waited for you, every night and every day, but you never came home. I consulted my friends and they told me that you've had several unsuccessful relationships in the past... and then they told me about the dangers of such men. So where were you really, Sam Temple?"

He blinked a couple of times. Then, biting his bottom lip and closing his eyes, he said, "On Coates."

She went from white to red to white in seconds. "So this is it then," she said suddenly. "You betray us all."

His mood worsened and he crossed his arms, frustration over her lack of understanding eating up the remains of the guilt. Drake had been right - townies really were slow.

He didn't notice how he referred himself to not being part of either parties, neither a townie nor a Coates kid. Drake hadn't done that either as he had heard - they were trapped in-between, both of them, hand in hand, because of one another.

"I haven't betrayed anybody." _'...but myself.' _

"We'll see what the council has to say about that," she said, words like venom, heading for the door. How could he have done this against her? She was too caught up in her own emotions to notice the slowly darkening expression on Sam's face. She didn't think about how the one he had slept with could change Sam, just like she had tried changing him. But the difference was, Drake had been successful.

These were the reasons of why she almost jumped up in the air when she felt strong fingers around her upper arm, forcing her back.

"No one will ever believe you," Sam said, voice becoming more and more like hissing. "You have no proof."

"So you're threatening me now, Sam?"

Her voice cracked at the end, and out of a sudden, tears welled up in her eyes. Finally, her last barrier broke. Hiding her sadness behind anger wasn't one of her stronger traits.

"Haven't you done enough already?" She couldn't stop it any longer, and the tears ran freely down her cheeks. She buried her face in her hands, crying openly. "Is it n-never... going t-to be enough... f-for you?"

"Astrid," he winced, scowl faltering. "I can't help who I... who I..."

_'I can't help who I fall in love with.'_

She somehow heard the unspoken words, gasped, and tore herself away from him.

"Bastard," she muttered, tears still sliding down her face. "I never was good enough, was I?"

"_Astrid_..."

"Can't you just _try_? Can't you just _try_ returning my feelings? I'm sure it wouldn't be too hard." She was trembling now, coming closer. He flinched, but didn't back away, not sure what she would do.

Then she kissed him.

She.

Kissed.

_Him_.

It felt like the earth stood still, and not in a good way. He froze completely, taken off guard, having no idea what to do. Felt too bad about it to shove her away at once. Still... He could feel the differences.

How she pressed her soft lips against his was nothing like Drake slammed their mouths together so hard it hurt. How Astrid's fragile body pressed into his was something else than Drake somehow crashing their bodies together and melted into each other perfectly. And most of all, how it didn't _smell_ like Drake, didn't _sound_ like Drake, and didn't _feel_ like Drake.

Then there was a super soft 'thud' from behind them.

Sam tore himself away, taking several steps backwards, turning against where the sound had come from.

It was Sam's bag that had brought to Coates that fell to the floor - he recognised the colours and symbols. Beside it stood a dark figure, face hidden by the shadows, though pale skin reflecting the moonlight. His tentacle arm curled and uncurled, the human hand's fingers doing the same.

Drake didn't need to do anything to drastically change the atmosphere in the room.

Still silent - as silent as one gets - he stepped into the light.

He said nothing. Didn't want to. Didn't _need_ to.

His expression was enough.

"You'd forgotten your bag," he whispered after a couple of seconds, voice drained for all feeling.

It was the most terrifying thing Sam had heard in his entire life - it made his heart break. _'He's hurt,'_ Sam realized with horror, having never seen Drake so broken, so vulnerable in his entire life. He suspected no one had. _'Oh Jesus Christ he looks so... so pitiful.'_

Sam felt how the insides of his mouth went dry again, and wanted nothing more than to hug Drake to death and tell him how much of a misunderstanding it was and how much he lo-

Drake's whip cracked in the air, a reminder who this was.

"I came to return your things... and here you are..."

Drake could no longer stand to look at his supposed boyfriend. He closed his eyes, hard, hoping this was just some nightmare. The one he'd allowed so close, the one he'd hurt (much), the one he'd... the one he'd...

So many emotions passed on his face just then.

_Hurt. _

Drake looked up again, eyes burning. "...kissing your fucking _girlfriend_."

_Jealousy. _

"It's not what you think!" Sam said, having never seen Drake so upset, ever. "I promise, it's not what you think, alright? Don't look at me like that, I'll explain, I promise! Merwin _please_!" When he heard Sam's desperate calls, Drake looked like he'd snap out of it for a moment, and he was about to when Astrid made the biggest mistake of her life.

_Betrayal._

"KILL HIM SAM!" Astrid screamed, terrified of this beast coming closer to her, hiding behind her ex-boyfriend. "If there's any love for me left in your heart, like you said, please save me from this horrid monster!"

And their last hope for saving vanished along with that last line.

_Rage._

_**Rage**._

_**RAGE**. _

"DRAKE _PLEASE_! I promise, she didn't mean to-"

Sam's promises weren't worth anything anymore.

"Step aside, Temple," Drake interrupted, though barely able to contain himself enough to not shout. "I'm going to kill her. I'm going to rip her apart limb from limb and paint the room in a beautiful crimson colour. I'm going to dance in the blood and decorate my room with her bones."

Astrid had turned white as a sheet.

Sam swallowed thickly, refusing to look at Astrid. "I can't let you do this," he said, and stepped in front of her.

Her hands immediately took a hold of his back, hiding behind him like a frightened deer.

"Move," Drake ordered in a tone that had no room for arguments.

"No."

"Move," Drake repeated, coming even closer. Only a few centimetres separated them from crashing into one another. "Move, now."

"No," was all Sam said.

Just standing still for a moment, Drake looked at him. Sam almost shrunk, unable to hold those burning eyes longer than a few seconds. As soon as he lost their staring competition, Drake caught him off guard and _threw_ _him_ _gently_ across the room.

Sam didn't even get enough time to scream and flew on top of the glass table, face first, crushing it to thousand pieces that scattered around. Some shards stuck far into Sam's skin, and he passed out immediately. Drake calmly strolled over to him and made sure he was still breathing, but also made sure he was knocked out properly.

He gently moved Sam over on the back so the sadist could make sure his face was alright. Upon noticing the damage, he gently lifted his hurt lover up, moving him over a nearby couch. There he laid him down gently; making sure that Sam was comfortable. "Don't worry; it'll all be nice in the end. Just you and me." He picked some of the glass shards out with his teeth. Then he kissed Sam's forehead lovingly and caressing his bloodied face.

In the mean time, Astrid felt her legs finally started to unfreeze and she tried to head for the door, bottom lip trembling over what she'd seen. Guilt had yet to fetch her in - fright had taken over much of her impressive brain and weak body.

"Not so fast."

The whip lashed out and hit her across her back so that she fell forward, hitting the floor hard. She whimpered, and tried to crawl. Drake merely gazed at her pathetic form for a moment before he whipped her one, two, three... six...

He stopped counting after that one.

When he was finished, he grabbed the back of her long blonde hair and held her up after it.

"You're gonna wish Sam let me kill you just now," Drake hissed in her ear, before he whacked her head against a wall until she passed out.

He held Sam up bridal style. "It'll be alright," he repeated, kissing him again. He hadn't felt this certain in ages, but now, he knew exactly what to do. All he had to do before the actual thing was find a nice, suitable place where no one would hear but Sam, him, and the blonde bitch.

But it wasn't like Sam would get out of this unharmed. He'd learn his place - every dog had too. It was only fair after all. "You broke my heart. So I'll break you," he murmured into Sam's shoulder. When he was finished, they'd be happy again, happy and free, together at last.

Drake was wrong.

Things would never go back to normal.

.

.

_"I am your black widow_

_I lay all my eggs in your eye_

_I'd kill all my darlings for you, my love_

_If only you would stay one more night"_

.

.

Sam awoke to a strange sound. He couldn't quite make sure what it was exactly, listening intensely, head darting around to remove whatever that hid his sight. It was probably a blindfold or something. His heart speeded up a bit though - no matter if he had a glowing pair of hands, his fear for the dark (or what was in it) still remained.

The sound repeated itself, and he tried to think of what it reminded him of.

There, he nailed it - metal scraping against metal.

Four small whimpers followed, like a dog in pain.

What had happened? Sam struggled to recall. There was pain coming from the back of his head, and slowly but surely, he began remembering what had happened.

The kiss.

Sam felt guilt wrap itself around his neck like a snake, squeezing tightly, leaving him in an actual coughing fit.

"Ah, there we go... Thought you'd never wake up. Welcome to the party, lover boy."

Merwin.

_Bastard_.

Then the blindfold was removed. The sudden light blinded him for a moment, but as his surroundings slowly came into focus again, he could point out a few things.

He was in a dark room with a light bulb swinging from one side to another, casting shadows upon the two figures in the room. One was standing up with hands on its hips, while the other one was in a corner, repeatedly making tiny sobs and whimpers.

"W-Where am I?" Sam asked, trying to move forward but finding out that something held him back.

"That should be quite obvious," Drake drawled, him being the one that was free. "Why in your own basement of course. But I guess it's not weird that you do not recognise this place - you are afraid of the dark after all." A short little laugh - drained for all the bitterness and anger Sam had expected. Instead it had an insane pitch to it, making Sam afraid that Drake had snapped.

Yet he could not hold back the question that was at the tip of his tongue.

"Where's A-"

And then everything changed again, after a small pause.

"The bitch is in the corner."

Drake's expression had darkened again, filled with nothing but pain and loathing, and then he started walking towards her. Drake fumed. The most noticeable effect on his increasing rage was as if the temperature fell several degrees until it hit the point where imaginary frost covered the floor in the petite room. Sam tensed because of the tumultuous change, blinking twice before taking a shuddering breath to calm himself.

This was a darker being - this was the monster Drake kept contained all along, only unleashing it during the wildest sex sessions, in mere glimpses. Even then Drake couldn't unleash it completely - that would destroy Sam, and he preferred normal Sam. Or, so he had.

"I'm sure she missed you."

There was so much feeling in that very sentence. All the jealousy and hate manifested itself in the very particles of the room, making Sam feel violently ill. What had he done to deserve this? It had all been a misunderstanding! Why couldn't Drake let him explain?

Casting a look at the broken, chained-up figure, Sam immediately panicked. Was she dead? Guilt spread itself from his stomach and up, heart threatening to get stuck in his throat. "Astrid!" he shrieked, turning white as a ghost and threw himself towards her. Was she dead?

She hung in the air after her arms, which was bound to a hook in the roof with thick chains. It looked quite painful, and blood was already coming from her arms. Ironic - the scene reminded Sam from a picture he'd seen of Jesus in some religious book. Moreover, it looked like something out of a splatter movie, or one of those horrible stories one only hear on television about men who kidnap and trap young girls to keep them as sex slaves for years. This made him feel even worse.

Though metal restrains stopped him from moving any longer and he almost choked, with the one around his neck - in a collar like fashion - becoming unbearably tight. The ones on his arms and legs dug into his skin, making his groan in pain.

Drake chewed on his bottom lip, watching Sam's struggle. He loosened the collar a little bit, then shoved his hands into his pocket, "Don't bother, I've chained you up all nice and tight. There's nothing you can do to prevent me from doing anything to you... or her." His tone was strangely empty, and his eye started twitching a bit again.

"_Monster_!"

Sam shook, angry as hell. He still felt incredibly guilty, but disguised it as rage.

Drake still didn't seem to understand, blinking a bit, like he didn't know what was happening.

But then he shook his head and it all became clear, clear within his madness, of course.

"You've been a very bad boy, Sam," Drake said calmly, "A very bad boy."

Sam clenched his teeth together - there was no talking with him. Not that he'd tried very hard, but there was something in Drake's gaze that told him this. So he screamed another time, suppressing the guilt in favour to appear threatening.

"LET HER GO!"

"You betrayed me," Drake said simply, "So I'm repaying you."

Sam swallowed thickly, not listening. "It's me you want right? Please, do whatever you want to me, just don't hurt her!"

"..." Drake didn't seem interested in that offer. He could've taken Sam any time he wanted, now included. But that wasn't what he was going to do today. No, not at all.

"You crashed the glass table, didn't you Sam?" he mused with a smile, ignoring both sense and Sam's despair.

It took a few seconds before he understood what Drake was hinting at, and he immediately glared fiercely at Drake; spit flying as he spoke, "You threw me across the fucking room!"

Drake didn't sound too pleased with that reply, the pained moans coming from Astrid annoying him further. "Let's try that again." He held up a kitchen knife, casually pressing it against her throat. "You crashed that glass table, didn't you?"

Swallowing, Sam had to look away to answer. He couldn't defy Drake, or Astrid would get killed. He knew that the sadist didn't joke around to much before it became serious - he had marks of ownership on his back that proved this.

"Y-Yeah... I did it," he said brokenly.

"That's much better."

Out of a sudden, he held out one of the glass shards from upstairs, gazing at its shining beauty. "Good Sam, you're learning fast. I like that. But she doesn't." Then he drew a long mark from under her eye and down, listening to her sweet screams. "Indirectly, you're hurting her. Hadn't you been so fucking stupid, the table wouldn't have crushed, and I wouldn't have been able to use it as a weapon."

"No!" Although Drake's reasoning was illogical, Sam's stomach couldn't bring itself to care. He still felt sick and guilty, still wanting to throw up. Throw his heart up.

"Oh yes," Drake replied calmly.

"Please!" he looked tearful now, chains not allowing him to bow down completely but one could see that he was about to. He made a praying expression, eyes closed, head low to show his deepest respect. Though again, fear wasn't the same as respect, and Sam was showing more of the former. Fear and guilt. "You can do whatever you want with me, just don't touch her..."

"Touch her? I don't want to touch her." Drake looked downright disgusted, and strolled over to Sam. He grabbed his hair and forced eye contact. "Quite the contrary, I prefer touching you. But since you insist on... on _toying_ around with me like I'm some whore I'm gonna show you why I'm so feared, and I told you again and again and again to consider yourself lucky because I restrained myself around you. You should've been thankful, Sammy-boy."

A pause, in which Drake headed back to his female victim.

Sam licked his lips nervously, delivering a quiet line. "I never meant to break your heart..." He regretted ever allowing Astrid to come near him again. He should've thrown her out, should've pushed her away, should've told her bits and pieces of the truth so she'd leave him alone... Even lie. He'd do anything to prevent this.

Drake paused again. "Heart?" Then he laughed - that terrible little sound that Sam hated so goddamn much. "Do you really think I have a heart, Sam? If I had a heart, wouldn't I have cared about you? If I had a heart, would I ever hurt you? If I had a heart, would I do this?" To further emphasise his point, he flicked up a knife and drove it into Astrid's upper arm.

"Drake!"

"What?" the sadist said, pretending to care. He soon went back to his victim though, cutting open her shirt. She threw her head back and forth, shocked tears streamed down her face. Drake didn't feel anything as he saw her perky front, but knew the humiliation from her and Sam's side would be enough. And right he was - she gasped and turned even redder, Sam's eyes wide as he swallowed.

"I'll do anything just stop!" he called out again.

"Shut up. You're repeating it over and over again, but do you even know what it means? I will take everything you have, Temple," Drake enlightened him, tone dark. "I will take _everything_ you have and tear it to tiny shreds."

Sam had no reply.

"See, Ellison? He doesn't care. ...It's his fault, all of this," Drake whispered poisonously in her ear.

She was driven over the edge.

"It's his fault..." In slow motion, she turned to Sam. "It's your fault. You did this to me. To us."

"_Astrid_ I never-"

"You did this." She was still crying. "You brought this craziness upon us! You did! You brought it upon _me_!"

He couldn't answer, and the guilt doubled, turning into an angry knot in his throat. It made it hard to breathe properly and he coughed, eyes threatening to roll back into his head. He wanted to sleep, to escape. His body couldn't handle it any longer, and he slipped away to sweet bliss.

...

"_Ah-ah-ah_."

Of course, Drake wouldn't let him.

He took hold of Sam's chin, shaking him awake. Their eyes met. Then Drake kissed him, those dry, bloodied lips having never looking so welcoming. He tasted of submission and fear. It was so long since Drake had tasted something of that sort, and although it was great, he felt like something was missing.

The answer must be that he needed more. More and more and more and more. Sam was going to give it to him, no matter what he had to say about it.

"One does not leave in the midst of a party. This deserves a proper punishment, don't you think?" Sam shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning upwards - but the tormented expression wasn't to be mistaken for a happy one. "Should I fuck you in front of her? I know how to hit all the right places... You'd be a moaning mess in no time, even in front of your _girlfriend_... You know I could, right?"

"Don't," Sam begged, indirectly answering Drake's question. "_Please_."

The sadist smirked in triumph and kissed his forehead, lovingly, knowing Sam hated it. Who said an old dog can't learn new tricks? "Because you're such a good boy, I won't. How about that?"

"Thank you," Sam breathed.

"You're welcome. But I want something in return. I want..." Rest of his voice ended in a whisper, speaking into Sam's ear so only his precious four-bar could hear. For each word, Sam's eyes widened a bit, expression becoming more and more tormented.

"Say it."

Sam refused to speak, trembling while taking a couple of shaky breaths. He looked terrified, casting panicking looks around the room. But there were no escape routes - Drake had the situation in the palm of his hand, and could squeeze the life out of him if he wanted to. "Please no..." he mumbled.

"Say it," Drake repeated, more harshly this time.

Sam finally managed to press the words out, spoken fast, and in a whisper.

"I can't hear you Sam... Louder."

"N-No..."

Drake turned his head to the side, gaining a wild look. "Tell her," he repeated loudly, cupping Sam's head up. "Say 'I got fucked by Drake Merwin and I enjoyed every moment of it', or I'll cut her nasty head off."

"I... I got f-f-f-f... fuck'd, by D-_Drake_," his name came out as a plea, but Drake pretended not to notice, just raising an eyebrow and moving the knife in circles. "...Merwin... and I enjoyed... I enjoyed every m-moment of it," Sam said quickly and quietly, a regretful and distressed pair of sobs following soon afterwards.

"Pathetic," Drake said, pushing Sam back with a sickening sound as Sam's back hit the wall. He planted a foot on his chest to keep him against the wall, but when Sam looked up, there were no playfulness on his face.

God his _eyes_... His _eyes_... They were so _empty_!

"I should crush you," he said suddenly. "I should end you here and now for thinking you were better than me. Hell, I should've done it the first moment when I discovered that I trusted ya - trust is for weaklings, and you tricked me into becoming one. Nasty creature."

Sam swallowed, but wisely stayed silent. _'Drag out the time... Maybe someone will come and save me...'_ But he knew it was highly unlikely, mere wishes from his part.

"Nobody will come save you," Drake said, as if having read his thoughts. He put more weight on his foot and Sam struggled to breathe again. "Nobody cares for you anymore. You pushed everyone away. Just like me. We are very alike on that area. Always alone, not wanted for who you are but for what you have." _Power_. "You're always alone, and I'm the best you've got. Remember that."

Drake kissed him again, smashing his lips against Sam's. It hurt, and Drake bit so hard he broke the skin. Blood and saltwater mixed into the kiss, and Drake didn't mind the taste. Sam whimpered as Drake's tongue lapped out to lick up some of the remains.

"I'm always alone," Sam said quietly. The stone wall felt even colder against his back now.

"That's right. Now kiss me again, if you want her to live," Drake purred. Sam kissed him, and it tasted of submissiveness, obedience and fear. Not with the burning passion Drake was used to, and he pulled away, and his face flashed with disappointment, and surprised himself. Wasn't this what he wanted, Sam entirely submissive and bowing down to his every will? _'Yes,'_ he told himself, _'Of course.'_

Yet it still left him feeling unsatisfied.

_'That's Sam's fault for not pleasing you,_' the tiny voice hissed inside his head.

Drake still held that vicious expression as he turned around and walked towards Astrid.

"You... You said you'd..."

"I said she could live," Drake said curtly, "I didn't say anything else." Then the whip cracked once in the air before coming down at Astrid, leaving no time for screams before it hit. He continued like that, whipping her skin to the bones, her screams echoing throughout the small room.

Sam's spirit wasn't yet broken.

He still had the guts to voice reason.

"DRAKE YOU FUCKING LIAR, LET HER GO AT ONCE YOU SICK FUCK!" Sam shouted; face tight in an angry grimace. His lip curled and he spat as he screamed, violently tearing at the chains.

Drake smiled, grabbing Astrid's hand. Studying it for a second, he then took three fingers and violently bent them backwards until they snapped. The pitch of her voice turned hysterical, and Drake rolled his eyes, "Will you shut up?" Then he grit his teeth hard together and broke the remaining fingers on that hand.

Her screams tuned down, voice becoming too hoarse to creating so much sound.

"That's better, Sammy?" Drake asked, then proceeded to stand up and whip her some more. "After all, when one cannot hear or see anything, one can't get hurt, right?"

Sam ignored the double meaning of his words and threw out a spiteful "I HATE YOU!" He threw himself forward, almost choking again, but it wasn't in him to care. The chains on his wrists burnt into his skin, but yet again, he didn't give a shit.

In that moment Drake wanted nothing more than to return to Sam and _kick_ or _punch_ or _scream_ or _kiss_ or _fuck_ some sense into him for even daring to mutter those words out loud, shamelessly lying to both of them like that. For it stung, yes it did, even into the trance and past all the barriers Drake had set up to block reason out and convince himself that he _had_ to do this.

He whipped her yet again, realising all his frustration into that very-

"I HATE YOU SO MUCH!"

Every whip became harder and harder to do. Because of each movement of his arm, the desire surfaced to almost unbearable lengths to get him to return. His head hurt. But Drake continued on, because he was a proud one.

"I WISH YOU WERE DEAD-"

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. When he'd realized what he'd said and opened his eyes again, he found Drake staring back at him with a horrified expression. Sam blinked a few times.

Then Drake came over to him again, leaving a trail of crimson footprints.

Sam closed his eyes, waiting for a beating. And a beating he received.

Drake's fingers dug into Sam's bruised jaw, creating even more bruises with his oddly sharp nails. His whip curled around Sam's neck, thickening the pressure against his already tight collar, ready to kill him.

"Don't ever, _ever_ make that claim again, do you understand that? You miserable little shit, you can't lie to save your life. We both know that," Drake said in a low hiss.

He made some inhuman growl, and then kissed Sam. It was harsh and unforgiving, leaving a bitter aftertaste. Drake could feel the small resistance and bit down on Sam's lips to remind him who was the boss. Blood streamed down in a thin line, and it tickled Sam's skin slightly when they parted.

Sam had no willpower left and sunk to the ground, arms shaking a bit like he'd just lifted a heavy weight. He made some sound much like an 'Ah', realizing something without insignificance, at least not for Drake. _'You don't care about me anymore,'_ Sam silently decided. Drake looked at his pitiful form without much emotion.

"Know your place." _'...with my feet, beneath me.'_

Lost, Sam looked up at him. This time his own eyes were so powered by feeling he had no problem holding the staring contest, Drake's lack of emotion balancing Sam's eyes, which were full of it. Yin and yang battled on, even after Drake had snapped.

And slowly, oh so slowly, Sam reached out a hand to touch his demon.

"With you."

Drake swallowed. But then he slipped into the fucked-up state yet again. But he couldn't deny it, though. "Yes. Yes, your place is with me. Always." His voice was low, not husky, but just low.

"Then free me, and I'll go with you. Wherever you want, I don't care. Let's just leave this horrid place... _Please_..."

"It doesn't work that way."

He looked back at Astrid.

She was nothing but a bloodied mess, red staining the usually to clean blonde hair. Her eyes that had once been filled with the security one too many townies lacked and faith in the good in this world were now filled with nothing but pain and anguish. Her legs and arms and hands and feet were all covered with cuts of various sizes and depth, some of them bleeding heavier than other.

The bones of her fingers on her damaged hand were sticking out in all directions, and it would be a miracle if she could ever use it again. Safe to say, Astrid Ellison had been reduced to a wreck in a couple of minutes, completely stripped from pride. In Drake's eyes, she had never looked more perfect.

"...'Cos I ain't finished yet."

He turned around, walking up the stairs.

"I've got a surprise for both of you."

Sam hoped he'd fall down the stairs and break his neck.

Nothing of the sorts happened.

He sighed, and looked over at the red-dotted form of his former girlfriend.

The silence was heavy and awkward. The room smelled of death, dust and despair.

"Astrid, I'm-"

"Don't."

She hadn't opened her eyes yet.

He looked down, but spoke again. "I'm s-"

"**Don't**."

"I-I-"

"Don't talk to me Sam, **please**." _'...If you talk to me there's a chance that I might forgive you.' _But she wasn't about to tell him that. Let him suffer, the devil on her shoulder told her, he deservers it. And secretly, she agreed, because the angel on the other shoulder was already driven away. That was how it was in her broken mind, anyway.

He bit his lip, and winced because it hurt the wound already there. Oh well, he deserved the pain, so he welcomed it and smiled a tragic smile. "If that's wha-what you w-wish..."

Seven seconds later, she spoke yet again.

"Y'know what I said about it being your fault?"

He opened his mouth, but then shot it and nodded almost shyly.

"I wasn't lying."

They spent rest of the time in an uncomfortable silence. Well, Sam did, too scared to fall asleep, and he suspected Astrid had drifted off in order to escape this Hell in a more comfortable place, a land of dreams instead of nightmares.

Drake stepped downstairs again.

In his hand he held a rod made out of metal, so hot it was orange in colour. Maybe he'd held it in a fireplace or something. When Sam stopped wondering about this, he realized what Drake could use such a powerful instrument to. His eyes widened for each step, for Drake's attention was fixated on Astrid, who still hadn't moved.

Then he held it against her forehead.

She screamed.

_'They always do.'_

But Sam screamed louder.

It was the usual _'stop, please, I'll do anything'_. It didn't go anywhere. But he did continue though, with those adorable little spasm of terror and pain (he sounded worse than her, even) although he wasn't the one receiving it. Even when he stuck the burning steel through Astrid's shoulder and closed his eyes for a moment to pleasure his inner desires, although far away, he could still hear the shrieking music.

It became louder after a while though, when the pleasure faded and he realized the metal rod was stuck in her arm.

"DRAKE, PLEASE," tears welled up in his eyes, and Sam had to force out the words he promised himself he'd never say, "I LOV-"

"Stupid creature," Drake cut him off, disinterested. "You don't feel anything."

That was the invisible gunshot that killed the remaining wall that kept him from falling into Hell.

Sam looked up, meeting Drake's gaze.

_'Would you rip the wings of a butterfly?'_

Drake smiled.

_'Yes, if not only to watch it fall.'_

And Sam fell, from grace, from pride, from Heaven, crashing down in burning oceans of nothing but torment, into Hell - a world that reeked of nothing but qualms of conscience and beautiful, terrible lies.

"MERWIN!" Sam screamed, hysteric, already crying massively like a waterfall during spring, when the ice melted and ran down the mountains. He looked beautiful, like a fallen angel (or perhaps a demon who just discovered what he'd become), all bloodied and tear-eyed, and Drake couldn't stop watching him, drinking in the sight. Never had he looked more like innocence. Bloodied innocence.

"Y-You promised... C-Control, r-r-remember?" his voice cracked in the middle, reducing to mere whispering.

"I'll show you control..." Drake muttered, grabbing his tiny wrists - his tiny, little, breakable _wings _- and held him up in the air, grinning. Then he kissed Sam harshly, still grinning while doing so, and went over to Astrid two seconds later and stuck the steel rod right into the side of her stomach.

"You're nothing to me. I could kill you now," he breathed, "Right in this moment. Slit your throat. Choke you to death. Whip your skin open, exposing bone. The possibilities are endless."

"T-Then do it. Kill me. Just l-leave her alone."

"No... No, I've already told you, that wouldn't be satisfying at all. You wouldn't learn anything, you'd just be dead. So I'll settle on something far more delicate..."

Out of a sudden, Sam found himself moved over on his back, eyes widening as it happened. No... Drake wasn't _that_ twisted, was he...?

Drake saw Sam's look of utter disbelief and rolled his eyes.

Honestly, he should've expected it by now.

"It's your fault really," Drake said matter-of-factly, "Hadn't you been so damn violent I wouldn't have to make sure you don't try anything again." He bent down, closing in on Sam's crotch, watching as the boy's pupils followed him. There was no lust there though - pity. He'd change that in a moment.

"Quite a sight isn't he?" he asked loudly, grinning at Astrid.

Drake then dragged the zipper of Sam's torn jeans with his teeth, and Sam had to look away to not became allured with the view. Drake mouth so close to his crotch he could feel breath there, waiting to be engulfed by his sweet mouth- _'No!'_ This was a violation, dammit; he wasn't supposed to- "_Ahh_!"

Not a sound came from Astrid.

Sam couldn't see her, but the silence had never been thicker. He bucked his hips forward, the chains rustling as he tried to get out so he could burn Drake to death. Being blown by whom he now again considered his worst enemy and unable to do something unless produce noises of sweet pleasure... It was humiliating, to say at least.

"Does this please you, you filthy little slut?"

"No-no... no..." Sam arched for the unaware bliss of the orgasm, desperately wanting everything to become nothing but a milky daze but also feeling guilt for wanting to leave Astrid behind. If he backed out now, it would result in her demise. He shook, moaning and groaning with pleasure and pain, trying to hold back. It didn't work, and before he knew it, a warmth spread itself from his stomach and down. He came into Drake's mouth, who swallowed without a second thought. He never choked. Never. It was beneath him.

Sam took a shaky breath, tears tickling under his eyelids. He refused to open them.

The psychopath smiled and wiped away the liquid near his mouth. He didn't seem faced with Sam's miserable expression, his smile just widened - he'd lost his mind long ago, it seemed. Yet the expression seemed a bit forced, and his eyes held no amusement.

Sam missed Drake. He missed the Drake he'd fallen in love with.

Was this monster really him?

Sam couldn't believe it. His Drake wouldn't have done something so macabre and bestial just because of jealousy, would he? This was just like those small episodes where he'd get really violent and the non-Drake would come out, entrance and exit quick, but often destructible, unleashing something buried deep within him.

The chains rustled again.

This time, they gave in for real.

Drake heard the violent snap, slowly turning his head. But it was already too late; because all he saw was a blue fire swirling towards him. Milliseconds passed by, the flame inching closer, ready to actually burn him alive. But instinct kicked in and made him jump to the side, sending the flame into a corner right beside Astrid.

Then he looked over at Sam, eyes wide with disbelief.

Sam stood there, teary-eyed and trembling, both arms extended. But there was no time for explanations as the only warning Drake got was Sam mouthing a simple "I'm sorry" sending another ball of fire towards him.

Again Drake managed to dodge it, throwing himself at the side, seeing how the wall turned black there the fire ball had hit. It wasn't a question - Sam was attempting on his life. How dared he? Drake had been merciful, hadn't killed either of them, but that was about to change.

Before he could think of any other promises of death, Sam had held out a hand and the light that come would surely kill Drake. It grew bigger and bigger.

But in the midst of it all, Drake suddenly recalled a moment from Coates that brought some sort of odd warmth into his whole body. When Sam had taught him to not be afraid of the flame, how he'd listened.

"Turn that fucking thing off," Drake growled, reaching out.

He basically _locked_ Sam's fingers. _Locked_ them; turned the fire out with his mere hand.

It was a huge risk but worked; Sam became stunned, unable to fight. He was remembering the tense moment between them when it had become clear that there was real trust between the two of them, and Sam remembered the warm feeling inside, feeling shameful over how Drake's small comments made him feel so good. Sam tried to look away, tears already streaming down his cheeks.

The moment didn't last too long though, sadly. Rage soon took over Drake's mind again. He did not comprehend that the tears that streamed down Sam's face at that moment were all for him. In fact, he didn't even notice them.

Instead he aimed for Sam's feet - kicking him off balance, making sure that he hit the hard basement floor hard. He wrestled Sam to the ground, taking both of his arms and locking them in a cross. Close combat was more his piece of cake instead of dodging crap all the time.

Sam fought against it but knew his struggle was useless. Four-bar or not, Sam had nothing on Drake when it came to all his experience as school tormentor.

Drake smashed his head against Sam's, slamming the back of the auburn-haired boy's head into the hard stone ground. Noticing how dizziness resulted in Sam having trouble regaining his reality awareness, Drake used this to easily twist Sam around. He used the now broken chains to restrain his arms behind his back, working quickly and quietly. Sam stirred, but failed to react before his arms were bound so tightly he could do nothing of use.

_'We had something.'_

His fists crashed down on the fragile boy that made no movements to fight back. All he did was trying to protect himself, making Drake even angrier, resulting even deeper marks all over his body. Sam promised himself he wouldn't scream, instead trying to get away from Drake until the wall hit his back. There was nowhere to run, and when the whipping stopped for a moment Sam looked up, hoping that this nightmare would be over. He was wrong.

_'Something special.'_

The whip came crashing down, hitting him diagonally across the face. It was about a centimetre away from hitting his eye. Sam sunk down, blood getting into his eye from the cut on his eyebrow. He didn't scream, but bit his lips until they started bleeding again. Soon instinct took over and all he could do was slide silently down on the floor, body jerking for each rhythmic hit. It hurt... It hurt so much...

_'Where is it now?'_

Drake finally stopped, looking down at Sam's bloodied body. The poor boy was trembling with all sorts of emotions along with the intense pain. He'd curled into a ball, hiding his face, always hiding that precious face... Drake didn't even notice when he removed Sam's red soaked and badly torn shirt, throwing it away. Sam just wrapped his arms around himself even tighter, annoying Drake.

"I think I'll rape you," he said, chewing on his bottom lip. "Maybe you'd understand then?"

_'What is it to understand?'_ Sam mentally screamed_, 'That you've gone completely bonkers?' _But he didn't say anything, he just cried, silently.

It wasn't good enough.

"Ya hear that, Ellison?" Drake screamed, "I'm gonna fuck your boyfriend!"

The chains kept Sam from hitting the ground, his arms behind his back in a painful manner, still kneeling. "Stop," he whispered, "just stop..."

Sam had given up. There were no use in fighting anymore - Drake had showed that when he wanted something he simply took it without concern of others' feelings, like a spoiled child.

He didn't even fight when Drake removed his chains.

How had he fallen in love with such a monster?

But as he sunk down on Drake's back, he suddenly saw something made it didn't feel to useless after all. Astrid moved, barely, but her chest still heaved and fell repeatedly, and although she was tremendously weak, she was still alive.

That made him smile faintly, even if he knew Drake was beyond the state of caring about life and death anymore, because this time, Drake would actually kill him. At least he'd saved _someone_, and that was the thing that had separated the angel and the demon in the very end.

No matter how far Drake dragged Sam down, he'd always reach out a heroic hand, never ignoring his deepest priorities. Deep at heart - no matter if he was Bus-Sam or Four-bar-Sam or simply Drake's Sam - that was one thing that would never change. He was still an angel, although with tattered wings.

Could he save Drake?

Or more importantly, himself?

It didn't matter.

"Thank you for letting her live."

Drake stopped in that moment, letting out a grand chuckle. He grinned, and it was a horrifying grin. "Who said anything about letting her live?" Then he pointed towards a few emptied gasoline cans and noticed the dark stain that were thrown on the house.

"No, no, no, no..." Sam repeated, feeling as if he'd been pushed off the limit. When Drake lighted a match, it felt all the more real, and he started to shake. "Why? You promised," he said brokenly. He walked towards Drake, arms outstretched; not deciding if his high need for comfort matched hugging the one that had caused all this.

"So I did. But y'know what Sam? I lied." He became all the more cold, pushing Sam away. "Just like you did."

"NO!" Sam screamed, and in the midst of his panic, shot a light ball at Drake. But the sadist saw it coming and easily stepped aside, resulting in the ball of light hitting the house, taking fire at once.

.

.

_"I do not know why you love me so_

_I'm floating through your veins_

_I sway you in a silken shroud_

_In the end I'm going to swallow your heart"_

"Black Widow"; Susanne Sundfør


	6. Ira

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but the plot.

**Author's note/warnings:** Torture. Slight gore. Dark!Dram. Non-consensual sex, meaning rape time people. Can't handle? Skip this chapter, please.

Just read FEAR, and still can't get over that this random guy's name is Major Onyx. We already know MG reads fanfiction, so that's a little bit weird. Hohoho, enjoy the gay pronz, MG.

Also, ever so fantastic beta-reader **DreamCatcher96** is still doing awesome work on this story~~

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**Onyx: VI**

_"I loved you."_

**Ira (wrath)**

Violent anger; vehement exasperation; indignation; rage; fury; ire

_._

.

_"Is it bright where you are_

_Have the people changed_

_Does it make you happy you're so strange_

_And in your darkest hour_

_I hold secrets flame_

_We can watch the world devoured in its pain"_

"The Beginning is the End is the Beginning"; Smashing Pumpkins

.

.

"I... I killed her."

Tongues of fire licked themselves up the house walls, mixing orange, red and yellow with the white Sam had once found so boring. Now he missed the cleanness of the colour - there was nothing clean about those Hellish flames eating up the house.

It was dark outside, making the burning house light up the dark.

Orange, red and yellow.

It'd be beautiful hadn't it brought death and despair with it.

Drake, on the other hand, _did_ find beauty in the view. The house had never looked prettier. He thought the flames resembled dragon tongues, ready to consume and massacre everything that crossed them. Ironic, seeing what his name meant. But this dragon was consuming something else... a soul, to be specific.

Sam's silent words brought him out of his musings.

"I'm a m-murderer..."

He didn't bother to tell Sam that Astrid was in a basement made out of stone, and the chance of a plank or two going right through her was small, although Drake hoped he'd be lucky (and even that wasn't as bad as burning alive).

No, instead he laid his head on Sam's shoulder, his hand playing with his auburn hair. It was as if they were a couple watching a romantic flick on a cinema - from Drake's perspective, anyway. "Probably," he said, "Maybe she's still alive under there somewhere."

Sam's eyes widened, staring right forward, unable to move a single muscle. The possibilities swirled around in his tiny head, and Drake could almost feel the hope in the atmosphere around them.

He wouldn't have any of it.

"You're not gonna go and save her," he informed Sam, moving away from the now trembling four-bar. He laid a hand on the lower part of Sam's neck, caressing it.

"W-What?"

"You heard me. Now come with me, we're leaving."

To a better place.

Sam stirred. "But she might be alive... She might be..."

"Dying?" Drake drawled, fingers clenching dangerously around his neck. "Yes, she might be."

"And I can save her! I can apologize again, I can..." Suddenly, he grabbed Drake, trying to shake some sense into the sand-blonde. "It'll be alright, there's still time, we can-"

"Don't touch me," he warned darkly. When Sam swallowed the lump in his throat, but didn't remove them at once.

Drake grabbed his wrists and held him up like a little bird, wings much too broken to flee. "Do you think it's over now, Sammy, just 'cos I ain't fucking you up at the moment? Are you really that naïve? Wait, don't answer that. But seriously though, didn't I tell you I was gonna tear you apart? ...You think I wanna be forgiven and _escape_ from this?"

He made sure to stare into both of his eyes, watching every emotion in Sam's eyes.

"No-no... I just thought..."

"You don't think." Drake slapped him hard across the face. "Do you even remember my promise?"

"Y-Your promise?"

"I'm going to teach you about disobeying me, Sammy." Although the words were far from dull, he somehow made it sound that way; like this was something he _had_ to do. He pressed Sam closer, crushing the air out of him in something far too sinister to a friendly embrace. He spoke quietly, "Will you scream for me?"

Sam didn't answer. He raised his palm, but was far too slow for Drake not to notice. So Drake sighed and punched the him - just like four-bar had done such a long time ago - and caught him as he fell, making sure his head wouldn't hit the pavement so he wouldn't pass out. "It'll be alright," he murmured, "Everything will be alright."

Then he dragged the limp body away from the burning house, away from Astrid, away from a possible escape, away from everything.

Sam felt that the harsh surface that tore open the skin on his back changed - there was a slight bump in the ground, and then there was soft grass. Not that it made it all the more comfortable - Sam's head still hurt like a bitch and he felt like he'd throw up his soul at any given moment.

He was far too dizzy to hear the shouts behind him, kids of all ages believing Sam was still in there and going to save Perdido Beach's hero. None were aware that he was dragged away by his number one enemy to get killed in the woods less than fifteen minutes from the house.

It felt like hours before Drake finally let go, none-too-gently allowing him to fall upon the dark green ground.

"I'm gonna rape you in front of your fucking town."

And it was true - they were at a hill of some sort, Perdido Beach watching them down there. Perhaps children even spotted them in the darkness, perhaps they would save him. But this vague thought made the need to throw up increase even more - because if they knew, why wouldn't they come? Why wouldn't they help him when he had almost sacrificed himself so many times?

Sam would've cried if he'd had any tears left. His eyes were puffy and red, but there were no tears left.

At first he couldn't do anything but lay completely still, not struggling, not shouting, not anything.

Sam swallowed thickly - this was so unreal, even if there were loads and loads of pain. He felt Drake push his legs apart with almost robotic motions, as if the sadist wasn't doing this of his own free will, but merely out of habit. He could feel Drake's cold fingers on his stomach travelling downwards and his head fell to the side, eyes wide, still not moving.

How could this have happened?

Sam didn't understand. Fate was playing with his emotions again, and he couldn't understand why she'd bring so much torment upon him. He had never been much of a religious person, yet he wondered if this was a punishment by the god Astrid always spoke so fondly of, for all the sins he'd committed.

Then he heard Drake loosen his belt, and his words kicked in.

No, it couldn't be, he wasn't that evil...

_'I'll rape you.'_

Sam started fighting. He kicked, screamed, punched, and used every manner of physical violence to get the fuck away from the sadist. But it was all fruitless - Drake held him, only muttering some curses.

"It's fucking useless," he growled loudly, "trying to get away. It's probably to save the bitch, yeah? Even if she was alive underneath it all back then she's probably dead now, so no fucking hero shit for you today."

Drake flipped Sam into his back, ignoring the cry of denial. He spoke while working on Sam's pants, soon attacking the remains of his t-shirt also, adoring the sweet whip marks he'd made earlier.

They came in all shapes and sizes along with other scars from earlier nights of rough sex, some larger, some smaller, and some newer than others. It sort of looked like a map when you knew the writing, and Drake could tell where each one came from. He'd never had photographic memory, but he could imagine in detail what he'd done when seeing those diverse marks. One particular was his favourite; the almost invisible one that started on the left side of Sam's neck and swung around like a wine plant until it reached Sam's lips. Drake remembered tasting crimson that night, and an overwhelming urge to redo it came over him.

But just as he was going to give into said urge, he recalled something when gazing at Sam's mouth.

Someone else had kissed Sam.

Those lips of his were stained.

Drake's whip cracked in the air, nostalgia forgotten. Sam wrapped his arms around himself, terrified of more torture. He was still sore from the last time.

"You're mine. No one is allowed to touch you. But you knew that, didn't you? You're my plaything, and I decide whether you're gonna play with someone or not. You deserve this, Temple."

In a moment of spite, where he wanted nothing to spit at Drake for being so heartless, Sam answered back, something he would regret from that moment on.

"You're jealous because she kissed me."

Silence, for a moment, in which Sam had enough time to crawl backwards when something even more sinister darkened Drake's murderous expression.

"You think I'm jealous of her, Sam?" Drake threw his head back and laughed and laughed and laughed, something that sounded more like hysteric crying than anything else. He wrapped his arms around himself like his ribcage would burst anytime.

It wasn't until he'd calmed down he muttered those icy, poison-drenched words. "I feel _nothing_."

If Sam had believed in auras, Drake's would've turned onyx black at that moment. The only warning he got for the horrendous agony he was about to experience came in the form of a horrid smile, fuelled by nothing but hate and pain.

"Don't believe me? I'll prove it to you, then."

His tentacle wrapped itself around his left foot like a boa constrictor, as certain in its hold as ever. He held one of Sam's legs up high, studying it like it was an alien object before steely fingers locked around it, starting to pull it in a foreign direction.

Then it hit Sam.

Drake intended to break his leg, if not yank it clean off. This scared him more than the worsening torment, and Sam took a shuddering breath. Maybe it was just a scare tactic?

Something in Drake's eyes told him otherwise, however.

"Please don't..." Petrified by terror, Sam took a shaky breath just as the pressure stopped. He couldn't move. "D-Drake?" he stammered, vague hope and confusion in his voice.

"No. I won't stop, not _now_, not ever, not until you understand _why_, Sam."

The pressure rose again, Drake bending his foot backwards once again, this time with such force the feared result was unavoidable.

_Snap! _

The immense pain was immediate. It rushed through his body like lightening, and although not a genius, he knew Drake had just broken one of his legs.

He screamed for help, for freedom, for forgiveness.

Seconds passed.

No one answered. No one came. No one even listened.

"Jesus..." Sam words were accompanied by nothing but the wind, which howled softly and offered hollow apologizes. It felt as if everything around him, plants and trees, pitied him. But he couldn't dwell much over it, the incredible pain pushing him into a daze.

"Why..."

_'Help.'_

"You b-broke..."

_'Help me.'_

"You broke my-"

_'Help me **please**.'_

Sam inhaled.

Then exhaled.

_'Anyone?'_

The earth stood still. Drake seemed to have changed his mind, perhaps he'd heard the utter desperation in Sam's voice and understood that Sam didn't deserve this, didn't deserve all the pain, didn't deserve to have his legs broken-

_Snap!_

No.

Not Drake.

As yet another long pair of screams filled the air, Drake couldn't help wonder how odd Sam's legs now looked. He'd seen broken legs before, but never studied them up close. No longer having any sort of pride or concern, he poked the bone that stuck out, watching the pained reaction as Sam tried desperately to stop him.

Drake frowned as his tentacle arm wrapped around Sam's leg, squeezing the bone back into place from its odd angle. Sam looked like he wanted to claw his skin off and tear out his eyeballs, but Drake didn't mind much.

"I disabled both your legs," he informed. "You can't get away. Escape is impossible. Despair is unavoidable. Better get used to the thought of facing punishment and take it like a man, Temple. Try burning my head off again and I'll make sure you die without your precious power. I'll cut your hands off Temple, I swear."

It was a tempting thought, sending a ball of fire straight through Drake's skull. But Sam had no wishes of having his hands broken or worse - cut clean off, so he wisely stayed quiet, instead releasing a few sobs.

"Good boy," Drake drawled, spreading his legs and releasing even more pained noises from Sam. His throat was too sore to produce anymore loud screams. His pants and boxers were soon by his ankles, and he rubbed himself against Sam, half-hard. That is to say, all this excitement and smell of fresh blood was sending his own blood to only one place.

Drake moaned, already becoming fully erected with just thinking of all the suffering he'd put Sam through any minute now.

Sam shivered, not experiencing those things at all. No, instead, he was disgusted, wanting nothing more than to crawl in a hole and die.

He could not dwell any longer on it, because Drake felt like he'd waited long enough and forced an abrupt entrance - not giving a crap about foreplay, merely entering without a preparation or lubrication of any sort. He drove himself as deep as he could, and meet the tightness that met him with an indecent grunt.

It released a half-suppressed and hoarse scream from Sam, but Drake didn't mind.

Drake had torn him open, and Sam soon felt something wet run down his thigh. Something thicker than water. He managed to come to his senses enough to understand that it was blood sliding down the inside of his legs. Drake didn't even allow him to adjust - instead he ignored all concern for the younger boy and started moving moments after penetrating the weakened body.

"S-Stop," Sam gasped, it being like their first time, an act he had no wish repeating. It was uncomfortable, it hurt, and- "_Ah_!"

Just as Drake had pulled himself out, he drove himself in again, even more forceful this time. But that wasn't the worst thing (Drake hadn't been satisfied with Sam holding back, the sadist wanting to hear an orchestra), oh no, because Drake held his broken foot and squeezed.

Somehow there were enough tears left for him to cry like a baby.

"Shush, Sammy. It'll be over soon, you ugly whore. I'll show you... I'll show you..." He started again, the blood making it easier to move. "You deserve to die. There there, it's quite alright. I'll give death to you soon, Sammy; just wait a little more... That's it... Quiet down..."

This was all while he continued to fuck Sam, slowly this time, painfully so. Tearful and frightened, Sam continued to silently beg for help (_'Anyone! _Anyone_!'_). This was wrong, this was immoral, this was...

He'd created this monster.

It dawned upon him like a meteor crashing into sand.

His pupils darted backwards, head turning to the side, needing to know if it was true. Proving him right, Drake smiled. It was as if he knew everything that went on in Sam's brain, controlling it, like as if Sam was a puppet on strings and Drake the puppet master.

"Dance for me."

And in his eyes, dance he did. Head jerking back and forth, limbs _rustling_, body trembling... All of it was a beautiful waltz Sam had only showed bits and pieces of before. The screams and whimpers only added rhythm to it.

Drake even found himself swinging back and forth to it, some sort of music having erupted in his head. His hips started moving again though, Sam's entrance slick with blood, making it easier to move. It was agonizingly slow, and suddenly he hit just the right angle.

"Doesn't it feel nice?"

No.

Not nice.

Not nice at all.

It felt like despair.

Sam cried more, still shaking. Still dancing. The combined pleasure and pain almost drove him insane - if wanted pain, goddamn it, and only pain! Didn't deserve anything else! And he didn't want pleasure from the boy that had caused all this endless misery!

"I'll kill you," Drake promised.

_'I believe you.'_

His left eye twitched.

_'Good.'_

"You'll die for me."

"I-I already am," Sam said in a hollow whisper.

Then Drake's heart fell out again and he lost the ability to speak, in Sam's mind regaining devil horns and a tail. He pulled out without a sound, grabbing Sam's face, guided him downwards and forcing the broken boy to swallow him whole. Drake groaned and started fucking his mouth, mind too clouded with pleasure to understand that he was actually being nice enough to kneel and not put pressure on Sam's broken legs. Had he come to his senses Sam was sure he'd not been quite as noble.

Sam was disgusted beyond reason, both by Drake for doing this and by himself still having a hard-on, but it had no real matter. It didn't change anything.

Blood and semen ran down from the corners of his cracked lips.

Drake came then, holding Sam so hard that he gagged, pulling out so the four-bar could cough his lungs back into functioning, only to lash out and whip him as soon as he'd recovered from his orgasm. Sam screamed, again and again, but it only made Drake more excited. He stood up now, yelling gruesome promises of anguish.

He told Sam that the people of Perdido Beach heard, but pretended otherwise, that no one in the entire FAYZ gave a flying fuck that he was up here getting raped by their biggest enemy.

He told Sam how they secretly wished for this to happen so he would become their soldier even more - so he would finally give his whole soul to them so they could devour and then point in every direction they wanted, even sacrifice him for nothing.

He told Sam that nobody loved him.

Sam believed all of it and cried.

Cried and cried, but there were no tears left, so all that ran from his eyes was ruby liquid. He wasn't entirely sure where the crimson came from, but Drake had whipped him over the face a few times before so that might be a reason.

It stained every inch of his pale white skin, and his shirt had been reduced to nothing but mere rags hanging lifelessly on his body, torn to pieces by Drake's mighty extraterrestrial arm. After lying face-down for so long (he had no idea when Drake moved him), grass tickling his face in vague comfort, it came as a shock when Drake moved him over on his back.

His entire being hurt, on the inside and the outside, and he felt dizzy and violently ill after everything.

Drake looked down upon him, drinking in the sight. His gaze moved to Sam's abdomen, and he raised an eyebrow in mock interest, "Still half-hard, aren't you? Fucking slut. But, I'll get rid off it for you..."

_'Oh god, not again!' _Sam knew he wouldn't handle a third time, not today. Not after Astrid's death. Not after the first, horrible time.

Drake was killing him, slowly.

"No... Not again, p-please don't!" Sam stammered. "I won't handle it, please!"

Drake's silver eyes flashed. "I don't care," he said venomously, a tad grim. But he went through with it, rubbing himself against Sam, already quite excited from seeing Sam cower before him like that. He lifted one of Sam's legs up and swung it over his shoulder. "Easy access," he said and laughed humourlessly, again forcing himself in with a grunt.

And again, Sam released nothing but a terrific orchestra of beautiful noises.

Drake continued to thrust into him, moaning as he did so.

"You really are a hard one, aren't you?" he asked, grinning mercilessly, "And I'm not just talking about _this_..." he drove himself even deeper, purposefully hitting the wrong angle and causing the body underneath him tremble. "I'm talking about you mentally. You just _won't_ break. I n- ...need to... gh... _push_ harder, don't I?"

"Don't," Sam breathed in-between hard thrusts, unable to look at his tormenter. "Don't."

"You're beautiful," Drake said, "But you're empty. No one will ever love you."

"I know," Sam cried out, "I k-know..."

"You belong to me."

"Y-Yes..."

_'I want you.'_

Why couldn't Sam see? Was there something blinding him? Drake had to remove whatever kept him from seeing the truth - he would violently rip it to pieces if he had to.

_'I want you so fucking much.'_

Still, as he looked into Sam's eyes, there was nothing but torment. No love, no happiness, no understanding of why Drake was doing this to him. It left him feeling empty, and it sort of hurt. Hurt transformed into anger, and he couldn't hold it back any longer.

"STOP FUCKING FIGHTING ME, SAM!" Drake shrieked, "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO LOVE ME, DAMMIT!"

Sam sobbed.

_'How can someone love a monster?'_

But Sam did, or he believed he did, and it felt as if his heart would tear itself out anytime now. He looked up, always hoping Drake would snap out of it, but this would be his biggest mistakes yet. He'd done some pretty big mistakes up to now, but he instantly knew this was going to kill him. It was in the very atmosphere that surrounded them. It replaced all hope.

Because Drake saw the confusion, the wonder, and the fatal outcome in his eyes.

He wasn't certain anymore.

This hurt Drake more than anything had done before. This was worse than getting his arm sawn off. This was worse than seeing Sam with another girl. This was worse than the darker afterthoughts he got when raping Sam - the one that screamed that all the principles he had lived on the past years (humanity is rotten, nobody cares, everybody hates everybody) were extremely wrong.

This drove him mad.

One.

Two-

Two seconds and then Drake was on top of him, wrapping his whip arm around Sam's throat like a two meter, thick wool scarf. The red and blue veins that were coiled around the pink fleshed tentacle pumped, new blood cells rushing through them to increase his hold.

Formerly, before this nightmare, Sam had sometimes wondered if it had a mind of its own. It certainly seemed like this now, when Drake looked like he wanted nothing more than to end Sam as quickly as possible, while the tentacle slowly tightened its grip, slowly choking the very life out of him.

Even Drake seemed remotely surprised over this. He soon regained his ice prince façade though, even if his left lower eyelid moved independent from the other, twitching a bit.

As long as there were still some air in his lungs, Sam could still call for his Drake. The Drake he missed so much - the not exactly _kind_ but **his** Drake, the one that would smirk smugly and laugh and fuck him and snore quietly and tell him how much he hated Sam but loved fucking him and how Sam was his and how in a way Drake was Sam's and...

He looked up on his demon, again filled with hope.

"S_to_- ...Drake pl_ea_-"

"I said I'd kill you, didn't I?" Drake squeezed his neck even tighter, a mad glint in his eyes. He talked like he tried convincing himself, not listening to Sam's pleading. In his head there was a weird buzzing, making him even madder. "I promised I'd kill you."

The hope died.

"So that's what I'll do."

The tentacle's hold tightened, the red veins almost pumping against the hard, pinkish flesh. Adrenaline rushed through Drake's body, pleasured by his own sadism, and he groaned in ecstasy.

He could see Sam turning blue; almost hear his lungs beg for oxygen. The midnight-blue in his eyes seemed even more intense because of the overwhelming darkness in Sam's eyes.

Drake smiled when Sam looked at him.

_'How can __**I**__ love a monster?'_

But he didn't, not anymore. Couldn't.

Drake stopped smiling.

Continuing to choke him, Drake started hissing again, "Do you feel my fucking pain now? Eh? This is how it felt like Sam, like being choked to death by the one you gave a shit about!" He then started moving again, slamming his hips against Sam's without a second thought how much it must hurt for the boy with the broken legs and all.

He continued to screw Sam some more, "This is pretty perfect, yeah? You crying and about to come... You must feel shameful... I know I did when I almost thought you cared about me," he sneered the last part, smile twisted and as terrible as ever.

His name meant listener.

It certainly fit right now - all he could do was lay there and take it, occasionally making a more pained "_Ah_!" than the usual. He hated how the figure thrusting into him seemed to enjoy it even more when he did that and just drove himself in even harder. For each time he whimpered, the pain would only get worse. Drake got off on his pained noises.

Eyes met for a brief second. It was a rare happening since both loathed to look each other in the eyes, almost frightened that they would find an unwanted emotion.

Midnight-blue eyes were like liquid, an entire ocean where waves crusaded against the shores, a soft, never-changing rhythm.

Silver eyes brought nothing but death.

"She was probably alive till now, y'know!" Drake grinned, pushing into him some more, "Begging for help from her beloved boyfriend who was too busy being fucked by the enemy! How does that make you feel Sam?"

Sam closed his eyes tightly shut.

Of course, it made him feel certain things. Things which were too much for him to handle - it tore down the last defences of his mind, Drake's wrath anguishing the last pieces of reason he had left within his fragile mind, everything shattering like glass.

Sam broke.

There wasn't much else to say about it.

Although the residents of Perdido Beach often forgot all about it, Sam was human too, if not even more than them. All that separated him from a normal teenage boy were laser beam arms and a sociopathic dictator of a twin. So when he was pushed beyond the limit, Drake tearing away from him what he sometimes thought he lived for, crushing him, breaking his trust, it was only natural that Sam just... just _cracked_, without a sound.

It was visible though.

Drake didn't stop the torment, doing nothing to cease the screams, watching Sam with sick interest. He knew the boy, and knew when something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

He also knew when it was too late to go back.

Right before the final blow, Sam looked up.

_'Why did you do this?'_ asked the expression on his face.

In the second where Drake was about to end it all in a last interaction of their hips, where he'd kill and tear and maim the one that had made his heart hurt so, then Sam decided to say it.

"I loved you."

There they were - the words that had caused the death. Not started the kill, but caused the death. Those three words that somehow managed to tear down Drake completely, those three words that he'd seen in Sam's eyes but hurt so much more when muttered by his beloved fallen angel.

Such horrible words. Because the truth often is.

(Only the white in Sam's eyes were now visible.)

Though Drake couldn't hold back anymore, he forced himself into Sam like he'd said he would, but the ultimate glory suddenly became something ultimately _bitter_ in his mouth.

He still came though and his grip became even tighter, emptying himself into the smaller body with that last thrust. He moaned in pleasure, although it wasn't quite as ecstatic as usual.

The bliss of the orgasm washed through him, blinding him and deleting all his thoughts for a few moments where he threw his head backwards and produced nothing but more moans. It did feel as wonderful as usual, but something was missing.

But he couldn't stay like that forever, and it all came back to him.

_"I loved you."_

Fuck, his head hurt. Drake stumbled backwards, finally letting go off Sam. The four-bar didn't move one inch, and Drake couldn't help but note how dark red the marks on his neck were. His eyes were half-closed, lips dry and split, and he lay completely still.

Drake sneered, massaging his forehead, growling in pain. Where was he? His head hurt, that was all he knew. "Temple," he muttered dazedly, "Get the fuck up."

No answer.

"Temple? Didn't you hear me? Get up. We're going... We're going back to Coates." It didn't sound certain though, because Drake wasn't. He just wanted away from this place, and, ah _fuck_, his head hurt!

Still no answer whatsoever. Sam didn't even look like he'd heard anything.

Drake stumbled from one side to another, almost falling.

"I told you to get up, Sam!"

He finally looked - and actually _looked_, not only with his eyes, this time - down at the bloodied, semen-stained corpse.

Then Drake understood what he'd done.

He started hitting his head like it would force the terrible memories out of him, the terrible image of Sam's eyes, the terrible words muttered right before Drake had choked him to death.

"**No**, **no**, **no**, _**no**_, _**no**_..."

He drove his blood rimmed nails into his own flesh, clawing and clawing until blood gushed everywhere, until he fell to his side and wrapped his arms around himself like a sorely needed straightjacket.

Accompanied by nothing but beautiful moonlight and the corpse of his long dead lover…

Drake sang a screaming sonata.

He screamed like the world was ending

Then, right after that, dead, silver eyes became entirely blank and he fell backwards, consumed by darkness and blood and memories forgotten long ago. Drake lost consciousness.


	7. Superbia

**Disclaimer:** Too poor.

**A/N: **Last part of Onyx (⌒ω⌒) Enjoy, though angsty chapter is angsty.

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**Onyx: VII**

_"I k-killed him."_

**Superbia (pride)**

A sense of one's own worth, and abhorrence of what is beneath or unworthy of one; lofty self-respect; noble self-esteem; elevation of character; dignified bearing; proud delight

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_It was a faint memory, and Drake couldn't recall what or where or when. But the harder he tried to ignore it the clearer it became, until he could see Sam sitting in the midst of an ivory mist, and he stopped trying to surpass it. _

_Sam was smiling, a bit uncertain. "Do you think we'll always be like this?"_

_He could see himself too, sitting cross-legged in front of Sam. "Christ no," he said harshly. _

_Instead of becoming hurt, Sam just laughed. It was a nice little sound, not too loud or pushed, and not annoying like a stupid girl's laugh. Drake liked Sam's laugh. "You're right," he said, "They won't be happy when they find out about us, right?" _

_Drake scoffed, not entirely sure how to respond to that. Sam didn't seem in a particularly bright mood, he gave off more of a calm and slightly tired feel. The sadist didn't mind though and crawled closer. Both of them were naked, though none of them expressed shyness of any kind. Too used to it. _

_Then Drake kissed him, never gently, but a tad less hard than before. Though never gently._

_And Sam responded, trusting, the idiot, taking comfort from the small moment between them. Secretly, Drake did as well._

.

.

Flames, flames everywhere.

There was _silence_.

Drake couldn't stand the fucking silence.

He slurred like he was drunk, knees giving in, making him bash forward and stumble until he was on all four like a dog.

_'Serves me right.'_

What? Where did that come from?

Drake's whole head hurt like hell, and for a moment he was sure he was dead and sent there, too. But then his surroundings stopped moving like he was on a carousel, and he found himself sitting at soft grass. He then tried to stand up, but slipped on some wet-like material, crashing into the ground once more.

His mouth felt numb and his tongue swollen, like he'd just told a speech at his own funeral.

"Ow," he muttered, rubbing the back of his head, then noticing that the space between his fingers were sticky, but not really thinking much over it. He wiped what he believed to be sweat off his forehead, only to have his hand stuck there for a moment because of something just as sticky. When bringing his hand down to see what the hell was going on, Drake found out that it was covered in dark red.

The more he studied it, the more he started looking at his own body, only to find his clothes and skin and hair also completely covered in blood. He tasted the crimson out of curiosity. How was he still standing if he had lost that much blood?

He looked a bit further on the grass, only to find an unmoving body a few meters in front of him. His eyes widened, and he walked up to it, staring at it for a couple of moment. He couldn't remember who it was. There were red marks on the body's neck as well, how odd...

And then he understood, and it all came back to him.

The blood wasn't his. It belonged to the beaten body on the ground. It… it… it belonged to Sam Temple.

Oh god.

Oh god oh god oh god it came from Sam, his unique taste still lingering on his lips oh fucking god he just fucking came into _that_ oh god there are _so much blood_-

And as hesitant fingers reach out - unintentional and stupid _stupid __**stupid**_ fingers - to make Sam face him, he only had one single look at the scarred-up face before Drake has to turn away again.

He retched, emptying his stomach into the grass ground. Everything left him - his desperation, his meaning, his pride...

The truth had never hurt more than now.

He'd raped him.

Drake started screaming again, a hoarse and horrible sound, echoing through the streets of Perdido Beach and perhaps even reaching up to Coates. Townies who heard closed their windows; sure that it was a wild animal. Children ran and hid, no one willing to sacrifice themselves to see if somebody was dying up there.

Humans are such selfish creatures.

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"Do you hear that?" Caine wondered, smiling while his left eye continued to twitch. His giggles were gone, and he just stood with a remotely serious (yet mad) expression on his face.

Diana however, shook her head, not able to hear anything.

"He's heartbroken," the version of Caine that would eventually forgot said, smiling sadly. Then he hugged his teddy bear tighter, "He's heartbroken after Dies Irae."

"Dies Irae?" Diana wondered, having heard of it before but unable to put her finger on it.

Caine's insane smile widened, "It means 'day of wrath'."

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After he was too hoarse to scream any longer, he realized how much of a corpse Sam looked like.

Did this mean...?

Drake's limbs were shaking as he tried to recall what he knew about reviving techniques while simultaneously ignoring all the feelings that came with what had just happened, slowly beginning to breathe air into Sam's mouth. Thereafter, he compressed Sam's chest, somehow managing it with only one hand with the help of his tentacle arm.

Two more rescue breaths followed, Drake trying to blow some life into Sam.

He thereafter tried to get Sam's heart to beat again, trembling while doing so. Drake continued like that for a while before he finally understood that there was no more life in Sam he could start.

He swallowed, final comprehension dawning upon him.

"You're... You're actually..."

Drake was left with nothing but a numb emptiness. Unaware of it, he bashed his fist against grass ground.

_Thud._

"Please wake up Sam, I didn't mean to."

_Thud._

"Please Sam, I promise I'll never touch you again, just don't be dead, please don't be dead."

_Thud._

"S-Sam-?"

Drake reached out and studied his fingers only to find out that that they broken and the bones were sticking out at odd angles. He couldn't tell if it was his or Sam's blood. This made him sick to the very core of his stomach and he wanted to throw up again but there was nothing left in his stomach to do so.

"I k-killed him."

Burying his hands in his sand-blonde locks, he screamed, tearing at it, trembling. Unconsciously, he drew his fingers down to his face and started clawing out pieces of skin, hysterical.

The blood mixed in with the tears and he cried.

He couldn't fucking stand himself, and the lump in his throat increases and made him choke on his own salvia.

"Oh sweet mother of god," his voice broke and he sobbed, "Oh g-god I raped him, and I fucking killed him... Sam... _Sam_..." Tears of regret streamed down his face. He was never going to see his angel ever again, never hear him laugh, never taste him, never be with him...

Sam had told him he'd loved Drake. That was his last words.

Drake had Sam's soul in the palm of his hand the entire time, but he hadn't understood it. He hadn't understood that it was such a fragile little thing, and that if he squeezed too hard, he'd squeeze the life out of his butterfly. Now it was too late.

But he hadn't just killed him, oh no, he'd made sure to break his legs and ribs (ripped off his wings), blinded him with sorrow over a lost friend (torn off his antennas), and fucked his body (snatched away his life) until it was nothing but a corpse left on the grass.

"Dear god... Why... Why did he..."

He'd never been much of a religious person, but Drake didn't care at that moment, looking up at the fake moon, screaming out a desperate plea.

"GIVE HIM BACK TO ME!"

Never would he see blue eyes look up at him.

"GIVE HIM BACK!"

Never would he hear that sweet little laughter of his.

"_GIVE HIM BACK_!"

Never would he see him smile back at him with trust, with happiness, and with love.

Drake panted, still shaking. "Please... I'll never touch him again, just allow him to live..."

No one answered his soft whispers. Drake knew, from that moment on, that he was doomed to be living alone yet again with no one to ever understand him like his little butterfly had, in some twisted way.

His eyes became dead once again, devoid of any emotion. He looked down one last time, closing Sam's eyes - _'If I'll never see your eyes again no one shall'_ - before standing up. Unaware of it, he'd grabbed a flower and let it fall down on Sam's body as a last apology that was far too late.

"I killed you," Drake whispered.

He walked, still trembling, lonesome, back to the madhouse otherwise known as Coates.

He was still crying openly, and his only viewers were the birds, how oddly enough continued to sing their sad and beautiful songs. If he'd not been so ruined by sorrow he'd stopped up and listened, and then thought, _'How strange it is that they sing for me.' _Because everybody knows birds don't sing for murderers.

He left his pride with the red-stained, violated corpse on the ground.

It had long been established that there were no fairytales for the two of them.

But if Drake had stayed seven more seconds...

Then he'd seen how one bloodshot midnight-blue eye cracked open and watched his retreating form.

Not having seen how broken Drake was, what was left of Sam was filled with hatred for his rapist and supposed murderer. However, he didn't hate Drake as much as the psychopath hated himself.

_._

_._

_After all these hidden signs, all these secret gestures and looks of inner fire, Sam would finally confront what had plagued him for so long. He stood there and swallowed thickly, waiting for the other to make the first move. _

_The infamous Merwin came out of the shadows, making shivers of desire run down his spine. _

_Ever so confident, Drake's eyes slid up his entire form, taking in every detail of who was supposed to be his greatest foe; the freak he despised most in this world; and the person he wanted nothing more than to take against the wall and screw senseless until he couldn't recall his own fucking name._

_They stood in silence for a while, both tense but comforted by the thought that they both wanted the same thing._

_Always the confident one, Drake fuelled the fire that would later consume them both. "So you wanna fuck or what?" he asked with a shit-eating grin, crossing his arm with his whip, a reminder of their roles as enemies._

_But not even in shock by the bold statement, Sam found himself agreeing. _

_"Yeah," he breathed. _

_In less than seconds, his arms were around Drake, their mouths smashed so hard against each other it was painful and tongues battling, their shared hatred for each other becoming a whole new class of war. For the first time, they ripped each others' clothes off, one as eager as the other, ignoring all about principles and morals and the war raging outside the bedroom walls - they were more fascinated by their own._

_But no war can go on forever._

_As naked bodies clashed together for the first time, making noises never made and high tones never reached, they never became aware of it._

_It was the beginning of an end._

_._

_._

_**fin.**_

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**A/N:** ...

...

...This is marked tragedy people. Wasn't supposed to have a happy ending, Sam was even supposed to die, buuuut I'm a real softie so I couldn't kill him off. Well, his fate now is worse than death but at least he isn't dead, hurr durr. Just crippled and fucked in the head, eheh, yay? (´▽｀) Him being alive just makes it more tragic.

Back to topic (I know - there was a topic?), I wanna thank everybody who read, favourite'd, and reviewed this fic, and especially those who came with constructive criticism (^-^)/~~ You are all wonderful! I hope you'll continue checking out my future stuff too! And my beta **DreamCatcher96** is FABULOUS, fixing all my horrid spelling errors. Without you I doubt this would've made any sense.


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